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POETICAL WORKS 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART., 

CON'T^lNINO 

Ljvv of the last minstrel, marmion, lady of xhk 

lake, don roderick, rokeby, ballads, 

lyrics, and songs. 



WITH A LIFE OF THE AVTHOF. 



NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

GEORGE S. APPI.ETOX. US CITESTNTTT ST. 
MDCCCXLVl. 



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MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOa 



Sir "Walter Scott -was one of the sons of "Walter 
Scott, Esq., -writer to the signet, by Anne, daughter 
of Dr John Rutherford, professor of the practice of 
medicine, in the university of Edinburgh ; and was 
born in that city, on the fifteenth of August, 1771, 
being the third of a family consisting of six sons and 
one daughter. His paternal grandfather, Mr Robert 
Scott, farmer at Sandyknow, in the vicinity of Smail- 
holm Tower, in Roxburghshire, was the son of Mr 
Walter Scott, a younger son of Walter Scott of Rae- 
bum, third son of Sir William Scott of Harden. 

The above-mentioned Walter lived at the time of 
the restoration, and embraced the tenets of quaker- 
ism ; but for this he endured no little persecution, 
both from Presbyterian and Episcopalian. Walter, 
the second son of this gentleman, and father to the 
novelist's grandfather, was so zealous a Jacobite, that 
he made a vow never to shave his beard till the 
exiled house of Stuart should be restored, whence he 
acquired the name of Beardie. 

Dr John Rutherford, maternal gxandfather to the 
subject of this memoir, and one of the pupils of Boer- 
haave, was the first professor of the practice of phy- 
sic in the university of Edinburgh, to which office he 
was elected in 1727, and which he resimed in 1766, 
in favour of the celebrated Dr John Gregory. His 



Vi MEMOIR OF 

wife, the maternal grandmother of Sir Walter, was 
Jean Swinton, daughter of Swinton of Swinton, in 
Berwickshire, one of the oldest families in Scotland, 
and at one period very powerful. Sir Walter has in- 
troduced a chivalric representative of this race into 
his drama of "■ Halidon Hill." 

Existence opened upon the author of Waverley, in 
one of the duskiest parts of the northern capital, -which 
■was the head of the College Vfynd, a narrow alley 
leading from the Cowgate to the gate of the college ; 
and before he was two years old, he received a fall 
out of the arms of a careless nurse, which injured his 
right foot, and rendered him lame for life ; but this 
accident did not otherwise affect his health or general 
activity. His mother, who had a taste for poetry, and 
•was intimately acquainted with the poets of her day, 
particularly Ramsay, Blacklock, Beattie, and Burns, 
is said to have shown a mother's fondness when the 
boy made his first attempt at verse. Before Sir 
Walter could receive any impressions from the roman- 
tic scenery of the old town of Edinburgh, he was re- 
moved, on account of the delicacy of his health, to 
the country, and lived for a considerable period under 
the charge of his paternal grandfather at Sandy know. 
This farm is situate upon a rising ground, near the 
bottom of Leader Water, and overlooks a large part 
of the vale of Tweed, In the immediate neighbour- 
hood of the farm-house, upon a rocky foundation, 
stood the Border fortlet called Smailholm Tower, 
■which possessed many features to attract the attention 
of the young poet. At the " evening fire" of Sandy- 
know also. Sir Walter learned much of that Border 
lore which he afterwards ■wi-oughl; up iu his fictions. 
After having undei^one the usual routine of juve- 
nile instruction. Sir Walter became a pupil in the 
High School of Edinburgh ; but as a scholar, he ap- 
pears to have been by no means remarkable for pro- 
ficiency. There is his own authority for saying, that 
even in the exercise of metrical translation, he fell 
far short of some of his companions ; although others 
pretend that this was a department in which he al- 
ways manifested a superiority. There is one anec- 
dote, however, worth preserving, connected with this 



THE AUTHOR. VU 

period. It is said, that Bums, -while at Professoi' 
Fei^son*s one day, was struck by some lines attach- 
ed to a print of a soldier dying in the snow. He in- 
quired by whom they were written — and none of the 
company ha^^ng returned answer, — after a pause, the 
youthful poet replied, " They are by Langhorne." — 
Burns fixed his large bright eyes on the boy, and 
striding up to him, said, " It is no common course of 
reading which has taught you this : this lad will be 
heard of yet." 

With regard to Sir Walter's inclination for ficti- 
tious stor}', we have his own testimony, at the distance 
of nearly half a century, for this habit of his early 
youth : " I must refer to a very early period of my 
life, were I to point out my first achievements as a 
tale-teller ; but I believe some of my old school-fel- 
lows can still bear witness that I had a distinguished 
character for that talent, at a time when the ap- 
plause of my companions was my recompense for the 
disgraces and punishments which the future romance- 
writer incurred for being idle himself, and keeping 
others idle, during hours that should have been em- 
ployed on our tasks. The chief enjo}'ment of JtXj 
holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had 
the same taste with myself, and alternately to recite 
to each other such wild adventures as we were able 
to devise. We told, each in turn, interminable 
tales of knlghf^errantr)-, and battles, and enchant- 
ments, which were continued from one day to another 
as opportunity offered, mthout our ever thinking of 
bringing them to a conclusion. Aa we observed a 
strict secrecy on the subject of this intercourse, it ac- 
quired all the character of concealed pleasure : and 
we used to select for the scenes of our indulgence, 
long walks through the solitary and romantic en- 
virons of Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, 
and similar places in the vicinity of Edinburgh ; and 
the recollection of those holidays still fomis an oasis 
in the pilgrimage which I have to look back upon." 

After having been t^-o years under the rector of 
the High School, Sir Walter entered himself, in 1783, 
for the Humanity or Latin class in the university of 
Edinburgh, under Professor Hill, and the Greek class 



na HEHOIE OF 

tmder Professor Dalzell; and for the latter, onee 
more, in 178-L But the odIt otlier class for "wliicli 
he seems to have matricolated at the College, was 
that of Logic, uiider Professor Bruce, in 178o. Al- 
though he may perhaps have attended other classes 
•without matricalation, there is reason to beEeve that 
his irregular health produced a correspondiag irregu- 
larity in his academical studies. The resulL it is to 
he feared, ^ras, that he entered life much in the con- 
dition of his illustrious prototype, the bard of Avon 
— that ii, '* •with a little Latin and less Greek. "' He 
had no-w given trp the character of a student, with the 
intention of prejiaring himseK for the bar, -when he 
vas overtaken by a severe illness; an account of 
vrhich, and its important effects on his future character 
and course, he has thus given in the autobiographical 
diapter formerly referred to : — 

*" When boyhiod advancing into youth reauired 
more serious studies and graver cares, a long illness 
thre-w me hack on the kingdom of fiction, a^ if it "were 
by a species of fatality. My indisposition arose, ia 
part at least, from my having broken a blood-vessel : 
aad motion and speech vrere for a long time pronotm- 
eed positively dangerous. For several weeks I was 
eonfined strictly t-o bed, during which time I was 
not aHowed to speak above a whisper, to eat more 
than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to have more 
covering than one thin counterpane. When the 
reader is informed that I wa^ at this time a growing 
youth, with the spirits, appetite, and impatience ot 
fifteen, and suS'ered, of course, greatly under this 
severe regimen, which the repeated return of my dis- 
order rendered indispensable, he will not he surprised 
that I was abandoned to my own discretion, so far 
as reading (my almost sole amusement) was concern- 
ed, and still less so, that I abused the indulgence 
which left my time so much at my own disposal 

'■' There -^as at this rime a circulating library at 
T." ' ' " i. I believe, by the celebrated 

A :.. besides containirg a most re- 

ST i books of every descriprion, was, 

as iwh; Live bi^n espected, pecaliarly rich in works 
of fiction. It exhibited specimens of eveiy kind, irom 



Jt 



THE AUTHOB. ix 

the romances of chivalry, and the ponderous folios of 
Cynia and Cassandra, dovra to the Ecrt spprced 
■works of later times. I vras plunged :;:^ . ^ : 

ocean of reading vrithout compass or pil : ; 

■when some one had the charitv to plaj . :.. 

me, I -was allo-wed to do nothing save read, trom 
morning to night, I was, in kindness and pity, "which 
•was perhaps erroneous, ho-wever natural, permitted to 
select my subjects of study at my own pleasure, upon 
the same principle that the humours of children are 
indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste 
and apperlte -were gratified in nothing else, I indem- 
nified myself by becoming a glutton of books. Ac- 
cordingly, I believe I read almost all the old romances, 
old plays, and epic poetry, in that formidable collec- 
tion, and no doubt ■was unconsciously amassing' ma- 
terials for the ta.sk in ■which it has been my lot to be 
£0 much employed. 

"■ At the same time, I did not in all respects ahtise 
the license permined me. Familiar acquaintance 
•with the specious miracles of fiction brought -with it 
some degree of satiety, and I began by degrees to 
seek in histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and 
the like, events nearly as •wonderful as those ■^hich 
•were the •work of the imagination, -with the addirional 
advantage that they •were, at least, in a great measure 
true. The lapse of nearly two years, during •which I 
•was left to the service of my ©•wn free -will, ■?ras fol- 
lowed by a temporary residence in the country, "where 
I •was again very lonely, but for the amusement ■which 
I derived from a good though old-fashioned library. 
The vague and "wild use •which I made of this advan- 
tage I cannot describe better than by referring my 
reader to the desultory studies of Waverley ia a simi- 
lar situation ; the parages concerning -whose reading 
•were imitated from recollections of my own." 

His two years' residence in the country completely 
restoreii his health, and as it "was necessary to fjrsue 
his studies for the bar, he attended the lectures of 
professor Dick on civil la-w, in the college, and per- 
formed the duties of a •writer's apprentice under his 
father. In alluding to this period he savs : " The 
Bevere studies necessary to render me fit for my pro- 
fession, occupied the greatest part of my time, and* the 
" a 2 



S MEfflOIE OF 

society of my friends and companions, who "were 
about to enter life along with me, filled up the inter- 
val with the usual amusements of young men. I was 
in a situation ^Yhich rendered serious labour indispen- 
sable ; for, neither possessing, on the one hand, any 
of those peculiar advantages v.-hich are supposed to 
favour a hasty advance in the profession of the law, 
nor being on the other hand exposed to unusual ob- 
stacles to interrupt my progress, I might reasonably 
expect to succeed according to the greater or less de- 
gree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself 
as a pleader." 

On the lOth of July, 1792, when just on the point 
of completing his twenty-first year, he was called to 
the bai' as an advocate, and enabled, by the affluence 
of his father, to begin life in an elegant house in a 
fashionable pait of the town ; but it was not his lot 
to acquire either wealth or distinction at the bar. 
The truth is, his mind was not yet emancipated from 
that enthusiastic pursuit of knowledge which had dis- 
tinguished his youth. His necessities, were not so 
great as to make an exclusive application to his pro- 
fession imperative ; and he therefore seemed destined 
to join, what a sarcastic barrister has termed, " the 
ranks of the gentlemen who are not anxious for busi- 
ness." Although he could speak readily and fluently 
at the bar, his intellect was not at all of a forensic 
cast. He appeared to be too much of the abstract 
and unworldly scholar, to assume readily the habits of 
an adroit pleader ; and, even although he had been 
perfectly competent to the duties, it is a question if 
his external aspect and general reputation would have 
permitted the generality of agents to intrust them to 
his hands. 

At the time when Sir "Walter entered public life, 
almost all the respectable part of the community were 
indignant at the hostile menaces of France ; and nu- 
merous bodies of volunteer militia were consequently 
formed to meet the threatened invasion. In the be- 
ginning of 1797, the gentlemen of Mid-Lothian imi- 
tated the example, by imbodying themselves in a 
cavalry corps, under the name of the Rojal Mid- 
Lothian Regiment of Cavalry ; and Mr AN' alter Scott 
had the honour to be appointed its adjutant, for which 



THE AUTHOR. 



oflBco his lameness was considered no bar. He was 
a very zealous officer, and highly popular in the regi- 
ment, on account of his extreme good-humour and 
f)owers of social entertainment ; and his appointment 
ed to an intimacy with the most considerable man 
of his name, Henry, duke of Buccleuch, and Mr 
Henry Dundas, who was now one of his Majcity's 
secretaries of state, and a lively promoter of the 
scheme of national defence in Scotland. It was 
about this time that he became known amongst a few 
of his friends as a poet; and, in alluding to this period 
of his life, he has thus given an account of the cir- 
cumstances which led him to cultivate poetiy. 

During the last ten years of the eighteenth centuij, 
the art of poetry was at a remarkably low ebb in 
Britain. Hayley, to whom fashion had some years 
before ascribed a higher degree of reputation than 
posterity has confirmed, had now lost his reputation 
for talent, though he still lived admired and respected 
as an amiable and accomplished man. The Bard of 
Memoiy slumbered on his laurels, and he of Hope 
had scarce begun to attract his share of public atten- 
tion. Cowper, a poet of deep feeling and bright 
genius, was dead, and, even while alive, the hypo- 
chondria, which was his mental malady, impeded his 
popularity. Burns, whose genius our southern neigh- 
bours could hardly yet comprehend, had long confined 
himself to song- writing. 

Mr Henry Mackenzie was the first to direct tho 
attention of the Scottish literati to German literature, 
by a paper which he read to the Edinburgh Royal 
Society, in August, 1788. On this subject. Sir Wal- 
ter continues — 

"The remarkable coincidence between the German 
language and that of the Lowland Scottish, encour- 
aged young men to approach this newly discovered 
mine ; a class was formed, of six or seven intimate 
friends, who proposed to make themselves acquainted 
with the German language. They were in the habit 
of living much together, and the time they spent in 
this study was felt as a period of great amusement. 
One source of this diversion was the laziness of ono 
of their number, the present author, who,, adverse to 
tho necessary toils of grammar and its rules, was in 



Xll MEMOIR OF 

th practice of fighting his "w^ay to the knowledge of 
the German by his acquaintance with the Scottish 
and Anglo-Saxon dialects, and, of course, frequently 
committing blunders, which were not lost on his more 
accurate and more studious companions." 

About this period — that is, in the year 1793 or 
1794 — Mrs Barbauld paid a visit to Edinburgh. She 
lived in the house of Professor Dugald StoAvart, and 
one evening she astonished the family circle to a great 
degree, by reading aloud a translation of Burger's 
" Lenore,'' executed by Mr Taylor of Norwich. A 
friend who had heard it, told Sir Walter what im- 
pression the recitation had occasioned, and repeated 
to him the rude but striking passage, descriptive or 
the supernatural speed of the ghostly horseman and 
his mistress : — 

"Tramp, tramp, along the land they rode. 

Splash, splash, aloii^ the sea. 

Hurra, the dead can ride apace, 

Dost fear to ride with me ?" 

Inspired with a strong desire to see the original, Sir 
AValter, with great difficulty, obtained a copy from 
Germany, through the kind offices of Mrs Scott of 
Harden, who was a German by birth. " The per- 
usal," says Sir Walter, " rather exceeded than disap- 
pointed the expectations which the report of Mr 
Stewart's family had induced me to form ; and the 
book had only been a few hours in my possession, 
when I found myself giving an animated account of 
the poem to a friend, and rashly added a promise to 
furnish a copy in English ballad verse. I well recol- 
lect that I began my task after supper, and finished 
it about daybreak the next morning, (it consists of 
sixty-six stanzas,) by which time the ideas which the 
task had a tendency to summon up were rather of an 
unccm.fortable character." 

The young poet was so much pleased with his suc- 
cess on this occasion, as to attempt a few more trans- 
lations from Burger, particularly of the poem entitled 
" Der Wilde Jager," " In the course of a few 
weeks," says he, " my oaati vanity, and the favourable 
opinion of my friends, interested by the revival of a 
species of poetry, containing a germ of popularity, of 
which, perhaps, they were not themselves aware, 



THE AUTHOR. xiu 

urged me to the decisive step of sending a selection, 
at least, of my translations to the press, to save the 
numerous applications -which were made for copies. 
When -was an author deaf to such a recommendation ? 
In 1796, the present author vras prevailed on, by re- 
quest of friends, to indulge his own vanity, by publish- 
ing the translation of *■ Lenore,' with that of ' The 

Wild Huntsman,' in a thin quarto The fate 

of this, my first publication, was by no means flatter- 
ing. I distributed so many copies among my friends, 
as materially to interfere with the sale ; and the num- 
ber of translations which appeared in England about 
the same time, including that of Mr Taylor, to whom 
I had been so much indebted, and which was pub- 
lished in the Monthly Magazine, were sufficient to 

exclude a provincial writer from competition 

In a word, my adventure proved a dead loss ; and a 
great part of the edition was condemned to the ser- 
vice of the trunkmaker." This failure, instead of 
disposing the new-fledged bard to retire from the field 
of letters, rather tempted him to proceed, in order 
"to show the world that it had neglected something 
worth notice." He pursued the German language 
keenly, procured more books in that lang-uage from 
their native country', and extended his views to the 
dramatic authors, so that early in 1799, he published 
"Goetz of Berlichingen, a tragedy translated from 
Goethe." 

The next eflforts of Sir Walter Scott were of higher 
promise and power, hut still they were as much anti- 
quarian as poetical ; we allude to his " Minstrelsy of 
the Scottish Border," and his " Sir Tristrem." The 
vein of poetrj' was by this time discovered, and the 
request of Monk Lewis to contribute to his Tales of 
Wonder, soon determined Scott's career. "■ Glenfin- 
las," " The Baron of Smaylhome," and " The Fire- 
King," were the gems of the book ; and poor Lewis, 
then at the head of the ballad school of diablerie, 
found himself in the predicament of a sorcerer who 
has evoked a demon so much more powerful than 
himself as to deprive him of his wand. From that 
period the destiny of Sir Walter Scott was fixed — he 
set up, to use his own words, like a hawker, on the 
strength of a couple of ballads. 



Xiv MEMOIR OF 

On Christmas eve, 1797, Sir Walter was married 
to Miss Margaret Carpenter, daughter of the deceased 
John Carpenter, Esq., of the city of Lyons, a gentle- 
man who had fallen a victim to the excesses of the 
French revolution. Soon after his^ marriage, he 
established himself, during the vacations, in a de- 
lightful retreat at Laswade, on the banks of the 
Esk, about five miles to the south of Edinburgh. 

For some years before the end of the centurj', Sir 
Walter had been in the habit of making, periodically, 
what he called " raids " into Liddesdale, for the pur- 
pose of collecting the ballad poetry of that romantic 
and most primitive district. He travelled thither, 
from Roxburghshire, in an old gig, which also con- 
tained his early friend and local guide, Mr Robert 
Shortreed of Jedburgh, sheriff-substitute of the county. 
Introduced by this gentleman, Sir Walter paid visits 
to many of the farmers and small proprietors, among 
whom, or among their retainers, he picked up several 
capital specimens of the popular poetry of the district, 
descriptive of adventures of renown which took place 
in the days of yore, besides impressing his mind with 
that perception of the character of the people, which 
he afterwards imbodied in his Dandie Dinmont. Mr 
Shortreed, who was a most intelligent person, used 
to relate an amusing anecdote, illustrative of the shy 
manners of this sequestered race. On visiting a par- 
ticular person, whose name and place of residence 
are sufficiently indicated by his usual designation of 
"Willie o' Milburn," the honest farmer was from 
home, but returned while Sir Walter was tying up 
his horse in the stable. On being told by Mr Short- 
reed that an Edinburgh advocate was come to see 
him, he expressed great alarm, and even terror, as to 
the character of his visitor, — the old fear of the law 
being still so very rife in Liddesdale as even to ex- 
tend to the simple person of any of its administra- 
tors. What idea Willie had formed of an Edinburgh 
barrister cannot exactly be defined ; but, having 
gone out to reconnoitre, he soon after came back with 
a countenance of so mirthful a cast as evidently be- 
spoke a relieved mind. ■■' Is yon the advocate.^" he 
inquired of Mr Shortreed. " Yes, Willie," answered 
that gentleman. " Deil o' me's feared for them, 



THE AUTHOR. XV 

Ihsn,** cried the &nner; "yon's just a chield like 
ours«lls !" 

It was not alone necessary on such occasions to 
write down old ballads from recitation, but to store 
up the materials of notes by which the ballads them- 
Eelves might be illustrated. On this account Scott 
visited many scenes alluded to in the metrical narra- 
tives, and opened his ear to all the local anecdotes and 
legends which were handed do-svn by the peasantry. 
He had a most peculiar, and even mysterious mode of 
committing these to memory. He used neither pen- 
cil nor pen, but seizing upon any twig or piece of 
wood which he could find, marked it by means of a 
clasp-knife, with various notches, representing parti- 
cular ideas in his own mind ; and these afterv\'ards 
were strung up before him in his study at home, like 
the 7iick-sticks over a baker's desk, or the string-al- 
phabet of a blind man. He seemed to have invented 
this algebraic system of memorandum-making for 
his own use ; and, to all appearance, was as conver- 
sant with its mysteries as he could be with the more 
common accomplishment of writing. When his own 
pockets were inconveniently stuifed with notes, he 
would request Mr Shortreed to take charge of a few ; 
and often that gentleman has discharged as much 
timber from his various integuments, as, to use his 
own phrase, quoted from Burns, might have mended 
a mill. The truth is, Sir Walter was blessed with a 
memory of extraordinary power, so that a very slight 
notation was necessary to bring to his recollection 
anj-thing he had ever heard. The collections of Scott 
in Liddesdale, joined to various contributions from 
reciters in other parts of the country, formed his first 
publication of note, the Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, This work which was issued in 1802, dis- 
played a vast quantity of curious and abstruse learn- 
ing ; and, in particular, a most intimate acquaintance 
with a district of Scotland which had hitherto re- 
ceived hardly any attention either from the historian 
or the antiquary. Previous to this period — in Decem- 
ber, 1799 — he had been appointed sheriff of Selkirk- 
shire, an office which rendered it necessary that he 
should reside a certain part of the year in Selkirk- 
shire ; and he therefore engaged the house of Ashie- 



XVI MEMOIR OP 

steil, on the banks of the Tweed, %v'hic'h continued to 
be his country residence till he removed to Abbots- 
ford. In 1804, Mr Scott increased his reputation as 
a literary antiquarj-, by publishing the ancient min- 
strel tale of "Sir Tristrem," which he showed, in a 
learned disquisition, to have been composed by 
Thomas of Ercildoune, commonly called Thomas the 
Rhymer, who flourished in the thirteenth century. 
By this publication, it was established that the ear- 
liest existing poem in the English language was writ- 
ten by a native of the Lowlands of Scotland. 

But for the ensuing circumstances of the poet's 
life, it will be best to resort to his own narrative, 
introductory to a late edition of the Lay of the Last 
Minstrel. 

The history of the rise and progress of this poem, 
the author has himself thus related : — - 

"■The lovely young countess of Dalkeith, after- 
wards Harriet, duchess of Buccleuch, had come to 
the land of her husband, with the desire of making 
herself acquainted with its traditions and customs. 
She soon heard enough of Border lore: among others, 
an asred gentleman of property, near Langholm, (Mr 
Stoddart,) communicated to her ladyship the story of 
Gilpin Horner, a tradition in which the narrator, 
and many more of that county, were finn believers. 
The young countess, much delighted with the legend, 
and the gravity and full confidence with Avhich it was 
told, enjoined it on me as a task to compose a ballad 
«n the subject. Of course, to hear was to obey ; and 
thus the goblin story, objected to by several critics 
as an excrescence upon the poem, was in fact, the oc- 
casion of its being written. 

" It was, to the best of my recollection, more than 
a year after Mr Stoddart's visit, that, by way of ex- 
periment, I composed the first two or three stanzas 
of '■ The Lay of the Last Minstrel.' I was shortly 
afterwards visited by two intimate friends, whom I 
was in the habit of consulting on my attempts at com- 
position, having equal confidence in their sound taste 
and friendly sincerity. In this specimen I had, in 
the phrase of the Highland servant, packed all that 
was my own, at least, for I had also included a line 
of invocation, a little softened, from Coleridjre — ■ 



THE AUTHOR. XVil 

' Marj", mother, shield us welL* 

As neither of my friends said much to me on tlie 
subject of the stanzas I showed them before their de- 
parture, I had no doubt that their disgust had been 
greater than their good nature chose to express. 
Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, I threw 
the manuscript into the fire, and thought as little 
more as I could of the matter. Some time after- 
wards, I met one of my two counsellors, who inquired, 
with considerable appearance of interest, about the 
progress of the romance I had commenced, and was 
greatly surprised at learning its fate. He confessed 
that neither he nor our mutual friend had been at 
first able to give a precise opinion on a poem so much 
out of the common road ; but that as they walked 
home together to the city, they had talked much on 
the subject, and the result was an earnest desire that 
I would proceed with the composition. 

"• The poem, being once licensed by the critics as 
fit for the market, was soon finished, proceeding at 
about the rate of a canto per week. There was, in- 
deed, little occasion for pause or hesitation, when a 
troublesome rh}Tne might be accommodated by an al- 
teration of the stanza, or where an incorrect measure 
might be remedied by a variation of the rhyme. 

" It was finally pulolished in 1805, and may be re- 
garded as the first work in which the writer, who has 
been since so voluminous, laid his claim to be con- 
sidered as an original author." 

During the year 1806, Sir Walter collected his 
oriijinal compositions in the ballad style into a small 
volume, which he published under the title of '■''Bal- 
lads and Lyrical Pieces.'"'' In 1808, he published his 
second poem of magnitude, " Marmion," in which, 
we are informed by himself, he took great pains, and 
was disposed to take still more, if the distresses of a 
friend had not " rendered it convenient at least, if 
not necessary, to hasten its publication. By good 
fortune." says Sir Walter, "■ the novelty of the sub- 
ject, and, if I may say so, some force and vivacity of 
description, were allowed to atone for many imperfec- 
tions. Thus, the second experiment was, in my case, 
decidedly successful." 



Svm MEMOIR OF 

Marmion had been published at the very com. 
mencement of the year 1808; wichm a few weeks 
thereafter appeared " The Works of John Dryden, 
in eighteen volumes, illustrated with Notes, Histori- 
cal, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the 
Author, by Walter Scott, Esq." In 1809, he assisted 
in editing '"The State Papers and Letters of Sir Ralph 
Sadler," which appeared in two expensive volumes, 
in 4to. — In the same year. Sir Walter contributed 
like assistance to a new edition of lord Somers's in- 
valuable collection of tracts, which appeared in twelve 
volumes, 4to. . He also became a contributor to an 
Annual Register, on a more ambitious principle thaii 
any hitherto attempted — a work at tirst edited by 
Mr Southey. 

Fortunately for all the lovers of poetry, the moun- 
tain-harp was not yet set aside amidst these more 
severe studies in prose, and in " The Lady of the 
Lake," Sir Walter Scott appeared to have produced 
the finest specimen of which his genius was capable. 
In 1811, appeared "Don Roderick," a dreamy vati- 
cination of modern Spanish history ; and in 1813, he 
published " Rokeby," in which he attempted, to in- 
vest English scenery and a tale of the civil war, v/ith 
the charm which he had already thrown over the 
Scottish Highlands, and Borders, and their romantic 
inhabitants. Rokeby met with a decidedly unfavour- 
able reception, which only excited him to a more 
strenuous etfort; and, in 1814, he published "The 
Lord of the Isles." Even the name of Bruce, hx)W- 
ever, could not compensate the want of what had 
been the inost captivating charm of his earlier pro- 
ductions—the development of new powers and styles 
of poesy. He afterwards published anonymously 
two smaller poems in succession, named " The Bridal 
of Triermain," and "" Harold the Dauntless •,"■ but 
they made a very slight impression upon the public. 

From these instances of want of success, it now 
became evident to Sir Walter, that he must " change 
his hand," if he wished to continue in favour with 
the public. Waverley was, therefore, published in 
1814; and, as the title-page was without the name of 
the author, the A\'ork was left to win its way in the 
world without any of the usual recommendations. 



TUE AUTHOR. XIX 

Its progress was for some time slow ; but, rafter the 
first two or three months, its popularity increased in 
a degree Avhicli must have satisfied the expectations 
of the author, had these been far more san^iue 
tluin he ever entertained. To Waverley succeeded, 
in 1815, Guy Manneriug; in 1816, the Antiquary, 
and the First Series of the Tales of my Landlord, 
containing the Black Dwarf and Old Mortality; in 
1818, Rob Roy, and the Second Series of the Tales 
of my Landlord, containing the Heart of Mid- 
Lothian; and, in 1819, the Third Series of the Tales 
of my Landlord, containing the Bride of Lammer- 
moor and a Legend of Montrose. 

Having now drawn upon public curiosity to the ex- 
tent of twelve volumes under two incognitos, he 
thought it necessary to adopt a third ; and, according- 
ly, he intended Ivanhoe, which appeared in the be- 
ginning of 1820, to come forth as the first work of a 
new candidate for public favour ; namely, Lawrence 
Templeton. From this design he was diverted by 
the publication of a novel at London, pretending to 
be a fourth series of the Tales of my Landlord. It 
was therefore judged necessary that Ivanhoe should 
appear as a veritable production of the author of 
Waverley. To it succeeded, in the course of the same 
year, the Monastery and the Abbot, which were 
reckoned the least meritorious of all his prose tales. 
In the beginning of the year 1821 a})peared Kenil- 
Avorth, making twelve volumes, if not v^-ritten, at 
least published, in as many months. In 1822 he pro- 
duced the Pirate and the Fortunes of Nigel ; in 1823, 
Feverii of the Peak and Quentin Durward; in 1824, 
St Ronan's Well and Redgaunclet ; in 1825, Tales of 
the Crusaders; in 1826, Woodstock; in 1827, 
Chronicles of the Canongjite, first series; in 1828, 
Chronicles of the Canongate, second series; in 1829, 
Anne of Geierstein ; and., in 1831, a fourth series of 
Tales of my Landlord, in four volumes, containing 
two tales, respectively entitled. Count Robert of 
Paris, and Castle Dangerous. The whole of these 
novels, except where otherwise specified, consisted of 
three volumes, and, with those formerly enumerated, 
make up the amount of his fictitious prose composi- 
tions to the enormous sura of seventy-four volumes. 



XX MEMOIR OP 

Thxoughout the whole of his career, both as a poet 
and novelist, Sir Walter was in the habit of turning 
aside occasionally to less important avocations of a 
literary character. He was a contributor to the Edin- 
burgh Review during the first few years of its exis- 
tence, and to the Quarterly Review he was a con- 
sidei-able contributor, especially for the la^t five or 
six years of his life, during which, that excellent 
periodical was conducted by his son-in-law, ISlv Lock- 
hart. To the Supplement of the Sixth Edition of 
the Encyclopaedia Britannica, he contributed the arti- 
cles " Chivalry," " Romance," and the '" Drama." 
In 1814, he edited "The Works of Swift," in 1 
volumes, v.-ith a Life of the Author ; a hea\y work, 
but which, nevertheless, required a reprint some years 
afterwards. In 1814, Sir AValter gave his name and 
an elaborate introductory essay to a work, entitled 
" Border Antiquities," (two vols., 4to,) which con- 
sisted of engi-avings of the principal antique objects 
on both sides of the Border, accompanied by descrip- 
tive letter-press. In 1815, he made a tour through 
France and Belgium, visiting the scene of the recent 
victor}' over Napoleon. The result was a lively tra- 
veller's volume, under the title of "Paul's Letters to 
his Kinsfolk," and a poem styled " The Field of 
Waterloo." In the same year, he joined Avitli J\lv 
Robert Jameson and Mr Henrj' Weber, in composing 
a quarto on Icelandic Antiquities. In 1819, he pub- 
lished "An Account of the Regalia of Scotland," and 
undertook to furnish the letter-press to a second col- 
lection of engi-avings, under the title of " Provincial 
Antiquities and Picturesque Scenery of Scotland." 
In 1822, Sir Walter published "Trivial Poenis aud 
Triolets, by P. Carey, Avith a Preface ;" and, in 1 822, 
appeared his dramatic poem of " Halidon Hill." In 
the succeeding year, he contributed a smaller drama- 
tic poem, under the title of " iV]acduff's Cross," to a 
collection of Miss Joanna Baillie. The sum of his 
remaining poetical works may here be made up, by 
adding "The Doom of Devorgoil," and "The Auchin- 
drane Tragedy," which appeared in one volume in 
1830. It cannot be said of any of these compositions, 
that they have made a deep impression upon the pub- 
lic. In consequence of these high literary acliievo- 



THE AUTHOR. XXI 

roents, liis Majesty George IV. was pleased, in March, 
1H20, tt. create him a baronet of the United Kingdom, 
h'f.'mg thf first to whom he had extended that honoiir 
after his accession to the crown. 

In 1825, Mr Constable having projected a cheap 
seiies of original and selected works, engaged Sir 
Walter to compose a " Life of Bonaparte." This 
woi'k was in progress, when, in Jamiar}-, 1826, 
Messrs Constable & Co., became bankrupt. For 
many years before, Sir Walter had been in the habit 
of drawing bills, at long dates, upon his publishers, 
as payment of the copy-right of his works ; and, as he 
occasionally Avas obliged with their acceptances on 
the strength of works not yet written, he was in some 
measure compelled, by a sense of gratitude, to give 
his name to other obligations, which were incurred 
by the house, for the purpose of taking up the origi- 
nal engagements. Thus, although Sir Walter ap- 
peared to receive payment for his literary labours in 
a very prompt manner, he was pledging away his 
name all the while, for sums perhaps not much in- 
ferior in amount to those which he realized ; so that, 
in the long run, he stood engaged to certain banks, 
in behalf of Messrs Constable & Co., for, it is said, 
about £60,000; in other words, a great portion of 
the earnings of his literary life. 

The blow Avas endured Avith a magnanimity wor- 
thy of the greatest writer of the age. In the mar- 
riage contract of Sir Walter's eldest son, the estate 
of Abbotsford had been settled upon the voung pair, 
and it was therefore beyond the reach of his creditors. 
By this legal arrangement, indeed. Sir Walter had 
hardly any property to present against the immense 
amount of his debts. There was one asset, however, 
which greatly surpassed the worldly goods of most 
debtors— his head. " Gentleraen,"" sai d ha to the claim- 
ants using the Spanish proverb, "time and I .against 
two. Let me take this good ally into company, and I 
believe 1 shall be able to pay you e-very farthing." He 
fuither proposed, in their behalf, to insure the sum of 
£22,000 upon his life. A trust deed was accordingly 
executed, in which he was considered a member of 
the printing firm of James Ballantyne & Co,; and it 
appeared that the whole debts, including wh-at must 



MEMOIR OP 



have been contracted commercially, amounted to 
£102,000, of which, however, the author of Waverley 
considered himself as personallj^ responsible for by 
far the greater part. He then sat down, at fifty-five 
years of age, to the task of redeeming this enormous 
debt. In the first place, he sold his furniture and 
house in EdinLurgh, and retreated into a humble 
lodging in a second-rate street. During the vacations, 
when residing at Abbotsford, he almost entirely gave 
up seeing company, a resolution the more easily car- 
ried into effect, as lady Scott was now dead. Ho 
was at this time labouring at his Life of Napoleon, 
which expanded under his hands to a bulk much be- 
yond what was originally contemplated. In the 
autumn of 1826, he paid a visit to Paris, to acquaint 
himself with several local and historical details neces- 
sary for his work. On this occasion he was received 
in the kindest manner by the reigning monarch, the 
misguided Charles X. "The Life of Napoleon Bona- 
parte" appeared in the summer of 1827, in nine vols. 
Bvo., and produced, it is understood, the sum of 
£12,000. 

Till the failure of Messrs Constable and Co., the 
Waverley secret Avas kept inviolate ; but the inquiry 
into the affairs of the house, rendered it no longer 
possible to conceal the nature of its connexion with 
Sir "Walter Scott. The copyright of these works was 
announced for sale, and it was necessary for Sir Wal- 
ter to reveal his secret in the best manner he could. 
Accordingly, at the annual dinner, 23d February, 
1827, of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund, in ansAver 
to an allusion by his friend lord MeadoAvbank, he 
declared himself the author of all the Waverley 
novels — the sole and undivided author. 

About the same time, the copyright of all his past 
novels Avas brought to the hammer, as part of the 
bankrapt stock of Messrs Constable & Co. It was 
bought by Mr Robert Cadell, of the late firm of 
Archibald Constables & Co., at £8,400, for the pur- 
pose of republishing the Avhole in a cheap uniform 
series of volumes, illustrated by notes and prefaces, 
and amended in manypai-ts by the finishing touches 
of the author. Sir \V alter or his creditors Avere to 
have half the profits, in consideration of his literai'j 



THE AUTHOR. ixiii 

aid. This was a most fortunate design. The new 
edition began to appear in June, 1829; and such was 
its adaptation to the public convenience, and the 
eagerness of all ranks of people to contribute towards 
the reconstruction of the author's fortunes, that the 
sale soon reached an average of twenty-three thou- 
sand copies, which is a greater sale than any previous 
publication had ever obtained. 

In November, 1828, Sir Walter published the first 
part of a juvenile history of Scotland, under the title 
of '•'■ Tales of a Grandfather," being addressed to his 
grandchild, John Hugh Lockhart, whom he t3'pified 
under the appellation of Hugh Littlejohn, Esq. In 

1829, appeared the second, and, in 1830, the third 
and concluding series of this charming book. In 

1830, he also contributed a graver history of Scotland, 
in two volumes, to the periodical work called '■'' Lard- 
ner's Cabinet Cyclopajdia." In the same year, ap- 
peared his Letters on Demonolog}' and Witchcraft, 
as a volume of Mr Murray's "■ Family Libraiy." The 
profits of these various publications, but especially 
his share of the profits of the new edition of his novels, 
enabled him, towards the end of the year 1830, to 
pay a dividend of three sliillings in the pound, which, 
but for the accumulation of interest, would have re- 
duced his debts to nearly one-half. Of £54,000 which 
had now been paid, all except six or seven thousand 
had been produced by his ov.n literarv- labours : a fact 
which fixes the revenue of his intellect for the last 
four or five years at nearly £10,000 a-year. Besides 
this sum. Sir Walter had also paid up the premium 
of the policy upon his life, v>hich, as already men- 
tioned, secured a post obit interest of £22,000 to his 
creditors. 

During the succeeding winter, symptoms of para- 
lysis, a disease hereditary in his family, began to be 
manifested, which became gradually more violent. lu 
the following autumn, his physicians recommended a 
residence in Italy, as a means of delaying the ap- 
proaches of his illness; and, by the kind offices of Capt. 
Basil Hall, permission was obtained for him to sail in 
his ]\Iajesty"s ship, the Barham, which was then fitting 
out for Malta. He set sail from Portsmouth, on the 
27th of October, and visited Malta, Naples, and Rome. 



KXIV MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

But feeling that his streugth was rapidly decaying.^ 
he determihed upon returning to his native country, 
in order that his bones iniLcht not be laid (to use the 
language of his ovrn favourite minstrelsy) " far from 
the Tweed." His journey was performed too rapidly 
for his sti'ength. For six days he travelled seventeen 
hours a-day. The consequence was, that, in passing 
down the Rhine, he experienced a severe attack of 
his malady, which produced complete insensibility, 
and would have inevitably carried liim oiT, but for the 
presenceof mind of his servant, who bled him profusely. 
On his arrival in London, he ordered his journey to be 
resumed; and, on Saturday, July 7th, 1832, he departed 
by sea to Scotland, reached Abbotsford, and seemed 
revived. The cloud, however, gradually descended 
upon him ; he grew weaker and weaker — and, on 
the 21 st of September, 1832, he died amidst his family, 
without any appearance of pain. 

Of his moral character the following interesting 
sketch has been given by the pen of Mr Chambers : 

" It is by far the greatest glory of Sir Walter Scott, 
that he shone equally as a good and virtuous man, as 
he did in his capacity of the first fictitious writer of 
the age. His behaviour through life was marked by 
undeviating integrity and purity, insomuch that no 
scandalous whisper was ever yet circulated against 
him. The traditionary recollection of his early life 
is burdened witli no stain of any soi't. His character 
as a husband and a father, is altogether irreproach- 
able. Indeed, in no single relation of life does it ap- 
pear that he ever incurred the least blame. His 
good sense, and good feeling united, appear to have 
guided him aright through all the dilhculties and 
temptations of life ; and, even as a politician, though 
blamed by many for his exclusive sympathy in the 
cause of established rule, he was always acknowledged 
to be too benevolent and too unobtrusive to call for 
severe censure. Along with the most perfect up- 
rightness of conduct, he was characterized by extra- 
ordinary simplicity of manners. He was invariably 
gracious and kind, and it was impossible ever to de- 
tect in his conversation a symptom of his grounding 
the slightest title to consideration upon his literary 
fame, or of his even being conscious of it." 



TBE 

LAY 

OF 

THE LAST MINSTREL, 

IN SIX CANTOS, 



TO 

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, 
THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The Poem, no-.v offered to the Public, is intended to illustrate the 
cusion\s and manners, which anciently prevailed on the Borders 
of England and Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a state partly 
pastoral, and partly warlike, and combining habits of constant de- 
pred tion with the intlnence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were 
often engaged in scenes, highly susceptible of poetical ornament- 
As the description of scenery and manners was more the object of 
the Autlior, than a combined and regular narrative, the plan of 
the ancient metrical romance was adopted, which allows greater 
latitude, in this respect, than would be consistent with the dignity 
of a regulir poem. The same model offertd other facilities, as it 
permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some de- 
gree, authorizes the changes or rythm in the text. Theniachin 
ery also, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile 
in a Poem, which did not partake of the rudeness of the old 
Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the month of an 
ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, who, as he is supposed to 
have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of 
the refinement of modern poetry, without losing the simplicity 
of his original model. The date of the tale itself is about the middle 
of the sixteenth century, when most of the personages actually 
flouris-hed. The time occupied by the action is three nighls and 
three daye. 



INTRODUCTION 



The -way was long, the \nnd was cold, 

Tlie Minstrel was infirm and old ; 

His withered cheek, and tresses gray, 

Seemed to have known a hetter day ; 

ITie haqi, his sole remaining joy, 

Was carried hy an orphan boy. 

The last of all the bards was he, 

Wlio sung of Border chivahy ; 

For, well-a-day ! their date was fled. 

His tuneful brethren all were dead; 

And he, neglected and oppressed. 

Wished to be with them, and at rest, 

No more, on prancing palfrey home. 

He carolled, light as lark at mom; 

No longer courted and caressed, 

High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 

He poured, to lord and lady gay, 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone , 

A stranger filled the Stuart's throne ; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had called his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering haqier, scorned and poor. 

He begged his bread from door to door: 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 

The liarji, a King had loved to hear. 



INTRODUCTION. 

He passed where Newark's stately towel 
Looks out from Yarrow's birclien bower: 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting place was nigh, 
With hesitating step, at last. 
The embattled portal-arch he passed, 
AVhose ponderous grate, and massy bar, 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess* marked his wearj- pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face. 
And bade her page the menials tell, 
That they should tend the old man well : 
For she had known adversity. 
Though l)orn in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb. 

"When kindness had his wants supplied, 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon. 
Of good Earl Francisf, dead and gone, 
And of Earl Walter_t, rest him God ! 
A braver ne'er to battle rode : 
And how full many a tale he knew, 
Of the old Avarriors of Buccleuch ; 
And, would the noble Duchess deign 
To listen to an old man's strain. 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though wcaJj, 
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 
That, if she loved the harp to hear, 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtained ; 
Tlie Aged Minstrel audience gained. 



• Anne, Duchpss of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representative 
of the ancient lords of Buccleuch. and widow of tlie unfoita- 
uate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in l'38o. 

+ Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father to the ducho^is. 

X Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather to the duchess, and a 
oolebrated warrior. 



INTRODfCTJON. 

But, when he reached the room of state, 

Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 

Perchance he wished his boon denied ; 

For, when to tune his harp he tried, 

His trembling hand had lost the ease. 

Which marks security to please ; 

And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 

Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 

He tried to tune his harp in vain. 

The pityinff Duchess praised its chime, 

And gave him heart, and gave him time, 

Till every string's according glee 

Was blended into harmony. 

And then, he said, he would full fain 

He could recall an ancient strain, 

He never thought to sing again. 

It was not framed for village churles, 

But for high dames and mighty earls ; 

He had played it to King Charles the Goo(3_ 

When he kept court at Holyrood ; 

And much he wished, yet feared, to try 

The long forgotten melody. 

Amid the strings his fingers strayed, 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild, 
The old man raised his face, and smiled , 
And lightened up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong. 
He swept the sounding chords along : 
The present scene, the future lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot: 
Cold ditfidenoe, and age's frost. 
In the full tide of song 'Vere lost; 
Each blank, in faithless memoiy void. 
The poei's glowing thought supplied; 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
■'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel siuig 



THE 
LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 

CANTO FIKST. 



I, 

The feast was over in Branksome tower,* 

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower; 

Her bower, that was guarded by word and by spoil. 

Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell — • 

Jesu Maria, shield us well! 

No living wight, save the Ladye alone. 

Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

II. 

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; 

Kniglit, and page, and household squire, 
Loitered through the lofty hall. 

Or crowded round the ample fire. 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase. 

Lay stretched upon the rushy iloor. 



* In the reiffn of James I. Sir 'Wllliain Scott, of Bucolenc'i, 
chief of the clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir Tho- 
mas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdiestone, in Lanarkshire, 
for ouo-lialf of the barony of Branksome, or Branxholm. lying 
upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick ; after which 
Branksome became the principal seat of the Buccleuch family, 
while security was any object in their choice of a mansion. 

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some 
Testiges of its foundation, and its strenjjth is obvious from the 
situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot, and flaukod 
b> a deep ravine, formed by a precipitous brook. 



CANTO I.] LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. / 

And urged, in dreams, the forest race, 
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. 

III. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall;* 
Niue-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; 
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
AVaited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV 

Ten of them were sheathed in steel. 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
They quitted not their harneis bright, 
Neither by day, nor yet by night : 

They lay do\\ai to rest 

With corslet laced. 
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel, [barrerL 

And they drank the red wine through the btilmet 

V. 

Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, 
AVaited the beck of the warders ten; 
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight. 
Stood saddled in stable day and night. 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow, 
And with Jed wood-axe at saddle bow;-f* 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome Hall. 



» The ancient barons of Duccleuch, retained in their household, 
at Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their o\^rn name, who 
held lands from their chief for the military service of watching 
ana warding his castle. Satchells gives us the names of twenty- 
fouj -gentlemen, younger brothers of ancient families, who we're 
pensioners to the house of Buccleuch, and describe-! the lands 
which each possessed for his border service. In time ot war 
with England, the garrison was doubtless augmented. 

+ The Jedwood aice wa? a. sort of partiian or halbert, used by 
borsemeii. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart stoif. 



LAY OF THE [CANTO L 



Why do these steeds stand ready dight? 
AVliy watch these warriors, armed, by night? 
They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying ; 
They watch, to hear the wai"-horn braying ; 
To see St George's red cross streaming, 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming; 

They watch, against Southern force and guile. 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers, 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 
From AVarkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisk.* 



Such is the custom of Branksome-Hall. — 

Many a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the Chieftain of them all. 
His sword hangs rusting on the wall, 

Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell. 
How lord Walter fell If 
When startled burghers fled, afar, 
The furies of the Border war ; 
AVhen the streets of high DunedinJ 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, 
And heard the slogan's§ deadly yell — 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 



Can piety the discord heal, 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, 

Can love of blessed charity? 

* Bratiksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks (rf 
(he English, both from its situation and the restless military dis- 
position of its mhabitants, who were seldom on good terms wilt", 
their neighbours. 

+ Sir Walter Scott, of Buccleuch, succeeded to his grandfather. 
Sir David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and 
warden of the west marches of Scotland ; and was slain bv the 
Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh, in 1552. This is the event 
alluded to in Stanza VII.; and the poem is supposed to open 
shortly after it had taken place. 

J Edinburgh. 

§ The war-cry, or gathering word, of a Border olan. 



CANTO I.] LAST MIXSTRSL. 

No ! vainly to each holy shrine, 

In mutual pilgriniafre, they drew;* 
Iniplored, in vain, the cfrace divine 

For chiefs, their own i«d falchions slew: 
While Cessfoid owns the ride of Car,"!* 

Wliile P>.trick hcasts the line of Scott, 
The sliiULhtcred chiefs, the mortal jar, 

The ha ■oc of the feudal war, 
Sliall nevf r, never be forgot ! 

IX. 

In sorrow, o'er lord Waltei-'s hisr 
The warlike foresters had hent; 
And manv a Hower, and many a tear. 

Old Te\ lot's maids and matrons lent: 
But o'er h ;r warrior s bloody bier 
The Lady I- dropped nor flower nor tear! 
Vengear ce, deep-brooding o'er the slain. 
Had lacked the source of softer woe; 
And burning pride, and high disdain, 

Forl)ade the rising tear to How; 
Until, arrtid his sorrowing clan, 

Her s)n tisped from the nurse's knee — 
" And, it I live to be a man, 

" My father's death revenged shall be!" 
Then fa'ot the mother's tears did seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 



All loose her neglisrent attire, 

All loose her golden hair. 
Hung Miirgaret o'er her slaughtered sire, 

And -wept in wild despair. 

* Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the feud 
betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed, 
in 1529, between the heads of each clan, binding' themselves to 
perform reciprocally the four principal pilgrimag-es of Scotland, 
for the benefit of the souls of those of the opposite name who 
had fallen in the quarrel. Such pactions were not uncommon 
in fpudal times; but they were often, as iu the present case, void 
of thf Oesiipd effect. 

+ The ramily of Ker, Kerr, or Car, was very powerful on 
the Bonier. Fyues Morrison remarks, in his Travels, tliat their 
influt.nce extended from the «-il\asre of I'reston Grange, in Lothiiin. 
to the limits of England. The Duke of Boxbui-ghe represents Ker 
ufCensford. 

▲ 2 



10 LAY OF TUE fCVNTC ' 

But not alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear. 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother's altered eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her father's ckn. 

With Car in arms had stood, 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran. 

All purple with their blood. 
And -svell she knew, her mother dread. 
Before lord Cranstoun she should wed,* 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XI. 
Of noble race the Ladye came; 
Her father was a clerk of fame, 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie if- 
He learned the art, that none may name, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.:J: 
Men said, he change<^l his mortal frame 

By feat of magic iiiysten.'; ^ 

For when, in studious mood, lie pac^jjr - 

St Andrew's cloistered hall. 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny Avail I§ 

* The Cranstouiis, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Borctoi 
family, whose chief seat \«-as at Crailing in Teviotdale. The7 
were at this time at feud with the clan of Scott: for it appears 
that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 1557, beset the laird of Cranstouu, 
seeking his Lif^. TS'evertheless. the same Cranstoun, or perhaps hid 
Don, was married to a daughter of the same lady. 

^ The Bethunes were o? French origin, and the name wiis ac- 
counted among the most noble in France. The family of Bi-tht.ne, 
or Beatoun, in Fife, produced three learned and dignified prelates: 
and from it was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, 
iridow of Sir Walter Scott of Branksome. She was' a woman or 
masculine spirit, and possessed the hereditary abilities of her 
family in such a degree, that the superstition of the vulgar im- 
puted them to supernatural kno^vledge. 

t Padua was long supposed by the Scottish peasants to be tlio 
principal school of necronancy. 

§ The vulgar conceive, that when a class of students have 'nnde 
a certain progress in their mystic studies, thev are ohligea to nnj 
through a subterraneous hall, where the devil "literally catches the 
hindmost in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily, that 
the arch enemv can only apprehend his shadow. Those, wto 
lif ve thus lott Cheir shadow, always prove the best magicians. 



CANTO L] 



LAST MINSTREL. 



And of his skill, as bards avow, 

He taught tliat LaAye fair, 
Till to her bidding she coiild bow 

The viewless forms of air.* 
And now slie sits in secret bower, 
In old Lord David's western tower, 
And listens to a hea\y sound. 
That moans the mossy turrets round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide. 
That chafes against the scaur's^ red side ? 
Is it the wind that swings the oaks ? 
Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
What may it be, the hea^'y sound. 
That moans old Branksome's turrets round? 

XIII. 

At the sullen, moaning sound. 

The ban-dogs bay and howl; 
And, from the turrets round, 
Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knight 
Swore that a storm was near, 
And looked forth to view the night; 

But the night was still and clear ! 



From the sound of Teviot's tide, 
Chafing with the mountain's side, 
From the groan of the wind-SA\-ung oak, 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 
From the voice of the coming storm. 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke. 

And he called on the Spirit of the FelL 



* The Scottish ^-ulgar. helievc in the existenca of spirits residing 
ill the air. nr in the watfrs to whose agency they ascribe floods, 
stonpn, and tenip«?st3. The introdtiPtion of the River and Moui> 
taiii Spirits tticrefme accords with the general tone of the romance, 
and the superstitions of the comitry where the scone is laid. 
+ Scuurx a j^rtcipilous bank of earth. 



12 LAY OF THE [CANTO I. 

XV. 

River Spirit. 

" Sleepest tliou, brother ?" 

Mountain Spirit. 

" Brother, nay — 

On my hills the moon-beams play 
From Cniik- cross to Skell'hill-peu, 
By every rill, in every glen, 

Alerry elves their morrice pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy, 
Emerald rings on bro^^^l heath tracing, 
Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 
Up, and list their music sweet !" 

XVI. 

River Spirit. 

"Tears of a.n imprisoned maiden 

Mix with my polluted stream; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow- laden, 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beaHU 
Tell me, thou, who viewest the stars, 
When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
What shall be the maiden's fate? 
Who shall be the maiden's mate .^" 

XVII. 

Mountain Spirit. 
" Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, 
In utter darkness, round the pole ; 
The Northern Bear lowers black and grim*, 
Orion's studded belt is dim ; 
Twinkling faint, and distant far, 
Shimmers through mist each })lanet star; 

111 may I read their high decree : 
But no kind influence deign they shower 
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower. 

Till pride be quelled, and love bo free.*" 

XVI 1 1. 

The unearthly voices ceast, 

And the hea\7 sound was still ; 



rvVTOLj LAST MiNSTaEU 13 

It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hill. — 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still lioated near; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower. 

And it i-ung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throbbed high with pride:— 
" Your mountains shall bend, 
And your streams ascend. 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride T* 

XIX. 

Tlie Ladye sought the lofty hall. 

Where many a bold retainer lay. 
And, with jocund din, among them all. 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy* 

The ti-uncheou of a spear bestrode. 
And round the hall, right merrily. 

In mimic foray rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old. 

Share in his frolic gambols bore. 
Albeit their hearts, of mgged mould, 
Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied. 

How tlie brave boy, in future war. 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescents and the Star."}* 

XX. 
The Ladye forgot her purpose high, 

One moment, and no more ; 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye. 

As she paused at the arched door : 

* Moss-trooper was tlie usual appellation of the maranderi upon 
the Border ; a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitant 
on both fides, and by none more actively and successfully than by 
Baccleuch's claiu Their predatory inroads were termed forays. 

+ The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were, yat on a cUi- 
veron, bet\s-ixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three inoUets 
tab!e. Crest, an unicorn's head erased proper. The Scotts of 
Buccleueh bore. Or on a bend azure; a star of six points betwizC 
two crescents of the first. 



14 LAY OF THE [CANTO t 

Then, from amid the armed train. 

She called to her William of Deloraine.* 



A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, 
As e'er couched border lance by knee : 
Through Sohvay sands, through TarraB moss, 
Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross ; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds ;t 
In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, 
But he would riJe them, one by one ; 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snoAv, or July's pride ; 
Alike to him was tide, or time. 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime: 
Steady of heart, and stout of hand, 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed had he been. 
By England's king and Scotland's quGcru 

XXII. 

" Sir William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride. 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St ^Mary's aisle. 

Greet the father well from me ; 
Say, that the fated hour is come, 

And to-night he shall watch with thee, 
To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this will be St Michael's night. 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; 
And the Cross, of bloody red. 
Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

* The lands of Deloraine in Ettrirke Forest, ■were immemo 
rially possessed by the Buccleuch family, and were occasionally 
granted by them to vassals or kinsmen, for Border-service. 

t The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border- 
riders, were someiimts obliged to stndy how to evade the pursuit 
of blood-hounds. A sure way of stopping the dog was to cross ^ 
brook, or river, or to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed 
the discriminatine fmnness of his scent. 



CANTO LJ LAST MINSTREL. 15 

XXIII. 

"What he gives thee, see thou keep; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book. 
Into it, knight, thou must not look; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better had'st thou ne'er been bom." 

XXIV. 

" O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed- 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
Ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say, 

" Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand ba done, 

Than, noble dame, by me; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 

Wer't my neck- verse at Hairibee."* 

XXY. 

Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 
And soon the steep descent he past, 
Soon crossed the sounding barbican,'!* 
And soon the Teviot side he won. 
Eastward the wooded path he rode; 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod: 
He passed the PeelJ of Goldiland, 
And crossed old Borth^w-ick's roaring strand; 
Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound.§ 
Where Druid shades still flitted round; 
In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
Behind him soon they set in night; 
And soon he spurred his courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.H 

* Hairibee, the place of executing: the Border marauders a.*. 
Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beafinnhig of the 51st psalm. 
Miserere mei, &c., anciently read by criminals, claimingthe beueiit 
of clergy. 

t Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal ciwtle. 

* Peel, a Border tower. 

§ This is a round artificial mount near HawicV, which, from ita 
name (Mot. ^ng. Sax. Concilium, Convenius), was probably 
anciently used as a place for assembling a national council of the 
adjacent tribes. 

II The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged fojv 
merly to a family of Scocts. 



16 LAY OF THE 



[CANTO 



XXVI. 

The clattering hoofs the -watchmen mark; — - 
" Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark." 
" For Branksome, ho P' the knight rejoined. 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turned him now from Teviotside, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
Northward the dark ascent did ride, 

And gained the moor at Horbeliehill ; 
Broad on the left before him lay. 
For many a mile, the Roman way.* 

XXVII. 
A moment now he slacked his speed, 
A moment breathed his panting steed; 
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band. 
And loosened in the sheath his biand. 
On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint, 
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of tlint;"f* 
Who Hung his outlawed limbs to rest, 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest. 
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye 
For many a league his prey could sjjy; 
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, 
The terrors of the robber's horn; 
Cliffs, which, for many a later year. 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach the grove, 
Ambition is no cure for love. 

XXVIII. 

Unchallenged, thence past Deloraine 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain,^ 

* An ancient lloman road, crossing through part of Roxburg;b- 
shire. 

+ A romantic assemblage of cliifs, which rise suddenly above the 
vale of Teviot. A small platform, on a projecting crag,' con. niand- 
ing a most beautiful prospect, is tern\ed BiirnhilCs Iltd, Tl.:s 
Barnhili is said to have been a robber or outlaw. There are 
remains ot a strong tower beneath the rucks, where he issup|osed 
o have dwell, and from which he derived his name. 

X The family of Kiddell have been very long in possession of the 
barony called Kiddell, or Ryedale, pan of which still bears ttie 
latter name. The epithet ancient is justified by the fact that their 
charters ascend to the reign of David I. 



CANTO L] 



LAST MINSTREL. 17 



"NVhere Aill, from mountains freed, 
Down from the lakes did raving come; 
Each wave was crested with taAvny foam. 

Like the maue of a chestnut steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 

XXIX, 

At the first plunge the horse sunk low. 

And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow; 

Above the foaming tide, I ween. 

Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; 

For he was barded* from counter to tail. 

And the rider was armed complete in mail; 

Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 

The warrior's very plume, I say, 

Was daggled by the dashing spray; 

Yet, through good heart, and our Ladye's grace, 

At length he gained the landing place. 



Now Bowden Moor the march-man won. 

And sternly shook his plumed head, 
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon;')' 

For on his soul the slaughter red 
Of that unhallowed mom arose, 
When first the Scott and Car were foes; 
When royal James beheld the fray, 
Prize to the victor of the day ; 
AV'hen Home and Douglas, in the van. 
Bore doNvn Buccleuch's retiring clan, 
Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. 

XXXI. 

In bitter mood he spurred fast. 
And soon the hated heath was past; 

• Barded, or barbed, applied to a horse accoatered with armour. 

+ Halidon, near Melrose, was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cess- 
ford, no\r demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the northward 
lay the field of battle betwixt Bucrleuch and Angus, (1526) which 
u called to this day the Skirmish field. 



18 LAY OF THE [CANTO 1. 

And far beneath, in lustre wan, 

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran :* 

Like some tall rock, with lichens gray, 

Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Abhaye. 

When Hawick he passed, had curfew ning, 

Now midnight lauds+ were in Melrose sung. 

The sound upon the fitful gale. 

In solemn wise did rise and fail, 

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 

Is wakened by the winds alone. 

But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; 

He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 

And sought the convent's lonely wall. 



Here paused the harp ; and Avith its swell 
The Master's fire and courage fell : 
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed, 
And, gazing timid on the crowd, 
He seemed to seek, in every eye, 
If they approved his minstrelsy. 
And, "dilHdent of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
And how old age, and wandering long, 
Had done his hand and harp some wrong. 

The Duchess, and her daughters fair, 
And every gentle ladye there, 
Each after each, in due degree, 
Gave praises to his melody; 
His hand was true, his voice was clear, 
And much they longed the rest to hear. 
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again began. 

* The monastery of Mplrose, fonndod by Kingf Davi.l I., is tht 
finest specimen of Gothic architecture, and Gothic sculpture, which 
Scotland can boast. The stone of which it is built, retains perfect 
sharpjiess, mi that evtn the most minute ornaments seem as entire 
as when newly \vToueht, In simie of tlie cloisters, there are lu- 
presentations of flowers, vet^etables, fee., carved in stone, with 
accuracy and precision so delicate, tliat we almost distrust our 
senses, when we consider the difficiilty of subjecting so hard a 
substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. 

t Xjauds, the midnight service of the Catliolic church. 




If QiuriTv-oiiLA's-t -vie-w fain Melrose ccd^t. 
Go Axsititiy tlxe pale inooasji^t; 
I'oT the ^a}- beams oi lloktsoitie daj; 
Gild, 'iiwl to jEtoiit. flie raiia^ ^7&V 



CANIUll.T LAST MINSTREL. ,19 



CANTO SECOND. 

I. 

If thou -would'st view fair Melrose aright, 

Go vi,it it by the pale moonlight; 

For the gay beams of lightsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in night, 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and Ivor}-; 

When silver edges the imagery, 

And the scrolls that teach thee to Ifve and die;* 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St David's mined pile:f' 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair ! 



Short halt did Deloraine make there; 
Little recked he of the scene so fair. 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong. 
He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
The porter hurried to the gate — 
" Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?" 
" From Branksome I," the warrior cried; 
And strait the wicket opened •wide: 

For Brauksome's chiefs had in battle stood. 
To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 

• The buttresses of the ruins of Melrose, are richlv carved and 
fretted, comaiumsr niches for thestatues of saints, and labelled with 
scrolls, bt-aiing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of these sta- 
tues have bepii deniolislied. 

+ Darid the first of Scotland, who was sainted for his liberality 
in founding and endowing Melrose, and otber monasteries. 



20 LAY OF THE [C.iNTO H. 

And lands and livings, many a rood, 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.* 

III. 

Bold Deloraine his errand said; 
The porter bent his humble head; 
With torch in hand, and feet unshod. 
And noiseless step, the path he trod; 
The arched cloisters, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride; 
Till, stooping low his lofty crest, 
He entered the cell of the ancient priest, 
And lifted his barred aventayle,*!" 
To hail the Monk of St Marj-'s aisle. 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee, 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the Monk arose. 

With toil his stiffened limbs he reared; 
A hundred years had Hung their snows 

On his thin locks and floating beard. 

V. 

And strangely on the Knight looked he, 

And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide;— 
"And, dar'st thou, warrior! seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide? 
Mv breast, in belt of iron pent, 

^Vith shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; 
For threescore years, in penance spent. 

My knees those flinty stones have worn; 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 

\^'ould'st thou thy ever)' future year 
In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 
Then, daring warrior, follow me !" 

* The Buccleuch fiamilv were ^eat benefactors to tho abbey 
t Aventayle, visor of tlie helmet. 



CANTO IL] LAST MINSTREL. 21 

VI. 

"Penance, father, will I none; 

Prayer know I hardly one; 

For mass or prayer can I rarely tany, 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray:* 

Other prayer can I none; 

So speed me my errand, and let me begone," 



Again on the Knight looked the Churchman old. 

And again he sighed heavily; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long since by. 
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way, [high : — 

\\Tiere, cloistered round, the garden lay; 

The pillared arches were over their head. 
And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.'f' 



Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
Glistened with the dew of night; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glistened there, 
But was carved in the cloister- arches as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, 

Then into the night he looked forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start ; 
Suddenly the flying jennet wheel, 
And hurl the unexpected dart.:}: 



* The Borderers were very ignorant about reli^ous matters. 
But however deScieut in real rel!;^ion, they regularly told their 
beads, and never with more zeal than when going on a plunder ing 
expedition. 

t The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulchre. 

♦ The warlike pastime of throwing the Jc7-jecd, has prevailed ill 
the east from time immemorial, and was imitated in the uiilitary 
u'ame called Jucgo de las canas, wtich the Spaniards borrowed 
trom their ^^oo^ ish invaders. 



22 LAY OF THE [CANTO IL 

He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 

IX. 

By a steel-clenched postern door, 

They entered now the chancel tall; 
The darkened roof rose high aloof 

On pillars, lofty, and light, and small; 
The key-stone, that locked each ribbed aisle. 
Was a llem--de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; 
The corbells* were carved grotesque and grim*, 
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim. 
With base and with capital flourished around. 
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had buund. 



Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, 
Shook to the cold night- wind of heaven. 

Around the screened altar's pale ; 
And tliere the dying lamps did bum 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant Chief of Otterburne,f 

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !+ 
O fading honours of the dead ! 
O high ambition, lowly laid ! 



The moon on the east oriel shone, § 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone. 



« Corbells, the projections from which these arches spving, 
iisually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. 

t The famous and desperate battle of Otterhurne vras fought 
15th August, 1S8S betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and 
James Karl of Douglas. The Scots won the day, dearly purchased 
by the death of their gallant general, the Earl of Douglas, who was 
slain in the action. He was bui'ied at Meli-ose beneath tht high 
altar. 

* William Douglas, called the knight of Liddesdale, flourished 
during the reign of Dav-id II. ; and was so distinguislied by his 
valour, that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. He w:is slaiu 
while hunting in Ettrick Forest, by his o%vn godson and chieftain, 
M'illiam Earl of Douglas, and ^vas interred, with great pomp in 
Melrose abbey, where his tomb is still shown. 

§ It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of 
Gothic architecture, in its purity, than the eastern window of 
IVIalrose abbey. Sir James Hall, has traced the Gothic order 



CANTO 11.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 23 



By foliaged tracery combined; 
Thou would' st have thought some fairy's hand, 
'Twixt poplars straight, the osier wand, 

In many a freakish knot, had twined; 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
And changed the willow-wreaths to stone. 

The silver light, so pale and faint. 

Showed many a prophet, and many a saint, 
Whose image on the glass was dyed; 

Full in the midst, his Cross of Red 

Triumphant ^lichael brandished. 
And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
The moon-beam kissed the holy pane. 
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 

XII. 

They sate them do^Ti on a marble stone, 

A Scottish monarch slept below;* 
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone: — 

" I was not always a man of woe; 
For Paynim countries I liave trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God; 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. 

XIII. 
"■ In these far climes, it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous ^lichael Scott ;•{* 

A wizard of such dreaded fame. 
That when, in Salamanca's cave,:J: 

throug-h its various forms, and seemingly eccentric ornaments, 
to an architectural imitation of wicker-work; ajid this ingenious 
system is alluded to in the romance. 

* A laige marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed ont 
as the monument of Alexander II. 

t Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the 13th cen- 
tury; but by a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later 
BEra. He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign 
countries, and he passed among his contemporaries for a skilful 
magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to have heard 
in his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were still in 
existence, but could not be opened without danger, on account 
of the tiends who were thereby invoked. 

Z Spain, from the reliques, doubtless, of Arabian learning and 
superstition, was accounted a favourite residence of maaricians. 
There were public schools, where magic, or rather the sciences 
Eupposed to involve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at Toledo, 



24 LAY OF THE [CANTO II. 

Him listed his magic wand to wave. 
The bells would ring in Notre Dame! 

Some of his skill he taught to me; 

And, Warrior, I could say to thee 

The words, that cleft Eildon hills in three, 
And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone:* 

But to speak them were a deadly sin; 

And for having but thought them my heart within, 
A treble penance must be done. 



"When Michael lay on his dying bed» 

His conscience was awakened; 

He bethought him of his sinful deed. 

And he gave me a sign to come with speed: 

I was in Spain when the morning rose, 

But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 

The words may not again be said, 

That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; 

They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, 

And pile it in heaps above his grave. 

XV. 

" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 

That never mortal might therein look; 

And never to tell where it was hid, 

Save at his chief of Branksome's need; 

And when that need was past and o'er, 

Again the volume to restore. 

I buried him on St Michael's night, 

When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright ; 

And I dug his chamber among the dead, 

Wlien the floor of the chancel Avas stained red. 



CANTO n.] LAST MINSTREL. 25 

That his patron's Cross might over him wave, 
And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 

XVI, 

■' It "was a night of woe and dread, 

When Michael in the tomb I laid; 

Strange sounds along the chancel past, 

The banners waved without a blast," — 

Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one 1— 

I tell you. that a braver mgTi 

Than William of Deloraine, good at need, 

Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed; 

Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread. 

And his hair did bristle upon his head. 



" Lo, Warrior ! now, the Cross of Red 

Points to the grave of the mighty dead; 

Within it burns a wondrous light, 

To chase the spirits that love the night: 

That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 

Until the eternal doom shall be."* 

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 

Which the bloody Cross was traced upon: 

He pointed to a secret nook; 

An iron bar the warrior took ; 

And the Monk made a sign, with his withered hand, 

The grave's huge poital to expand. 

XVIII. 
With beating heart to the task he went; 
His sinewy n^ame o'er the grave-stone bent; 
With bar of iron heaved amain, 
Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. 
It was by dint of passing strength. 
That he moved the massy stone at length. 
I would you had been there, to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously. 



* Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural tna^c, 
talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been found buruuig 
in ancient sepulchres. One nf these perpetual lamps is said to havb 
!)e«n discovered in the tomb of Tulhola, the daughter of Cicero. 



26 LAY OP THE CCANTO 11 

Streamed upward to the chancel roof, 
And through the galleries far aloof! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright: 
It shone like heaven's o^vn blessed light; 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, 
Danced on the dark-brow'd AVarrior's mail, 
And kissed his waving plume. 



Before their eyes the Wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled, 
He seemed some seventy winters old; 

A palmer's amice wrapped him round, 

With a wrought Spanish baldric bound^ 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: 

His left hand held his Book of Might; 

A silver cross was in his right; 

The lamp was placed beside his knee: 
High and majestic was his look. 
At which the fellest fiends had shook, 
And all unruffled was his face : — 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 



Often had William of Deloraine 
Rode through the battle's bloody plain. 
And trampled down the warriors slain. 

And neither known remorse or awe; 
Yet now remorse and awe he o^\^l'd; 
His breath came thick, his head swam round. 

When this strange scene of death he saw. 
Bewildered and unnerved he stood, 
And the priest prayed fervently, and loud : 
AVith eyes averted prayed he ; 
He might not endure the sight to see. 
Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 



And -when the Priest his death-prayer had prayed. 
Thus imto Deloraine he said : — 



CANTO n. I LAST MI^t5XREU 27 

" Now speed thee what thou hast to do, 

Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; 

For those, thou mayest not look upon. 

Are gathering fast round the yawning stoue T' 

Tlien Deloraine, in terror, took 

From the cold hand the jNIighty Book, 

With iron clasped, and with iron bound: 

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned ; 

But the glare of the sepulchral light, 

Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

XXII. 

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 

The night returned, in double gloom ; 

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few j 

And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew. 

With wavering steps and dizzy brain, 

They hardly might the postern gain, 

'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, 

They heard strange noises on the blast ; 

And through the cloister-galleries small, 

WTiich at mid-height thread the chancel wall. 

Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran. 

And voices unlike the voice of man ; 

As if the fiends kept holiday. 

Because these spells were brought to day. 

I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 

I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 



" Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 
" And, when we are on death-bed laid, 
O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !" 

The monk returned him to his cell, 
And many a prayer and penance sped ; 

When the convent met at the noontide boll— 
The Monk of St Mary's aisle was dead ! 
Before the cro^ was the body laid. 
With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. 



28 LAY OF THE I CANTO IL 

XXIT. 

The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, 

And strove his hardihood to find : 

He was glad when he passed the tombstones graj', 

Which girdle round the lair Abbaye ; 

For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, 

Felt like a load upon his breast ; 

And his joints, with nerves of iron twined. 

Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 

Full fain was he when the dawn of day 

Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 

He joyed to see the cheerful light, 

And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. 



The sun had brightened Cheviot gray. 

The sun had brightened the Carter's* side; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale. 

And wakened every flower that blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet pale, 

And spread her breast the mountain rose ; 
And lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale. 
She early left her sleepless bed, 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 



Why does fair Margaret so early awake, 

And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make* 

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 
Why does she stop, and look often around. 

As she glides down the secret stair ; 

And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, 

As he rouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone. 
Why is not the watchman's bugle-blown ? 

* A movmiain on the Border of England, abore Jedburgh. 



LAST MINSTREL. 29 



The ladye steps in doubt and dread, 

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread ; 

The lady caresses the rough blood-hound, 

Lest his voice should waken the castle round ; 

The watchman's bugle is not blo^vn, 

For he was her foster-father's son ; 

And she glides through the greenwood at da^vn of light, 

To meet Baron Henry, her ovnx true knight. 



The Knight and Ladye fair are met. 

And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. 

A fairer pair were never seen 

To meet beneath the ha^vthom green. 

He was stately, and young, and tall ; 

Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 

And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid. 

Lent to her cheek a livelier red ; 

When the half sigh her swelling breast 

Against the silken ribband pressed ; 

"W hen her blue eyes their secret told. 

Though shaded by her locks of gold — 

Where would you find the peerless fair. 

With Margaret of Branksome might compare! 

XXIX. 

And now, fair dames, methinks I see 

You listen to my minstrelsy ; 

Your waving locks ye backward throw, 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow : — 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale, 

Of two ti-ue lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 

To paint his faithful passion strove ; 
Swore, he might at her feet expire, 

But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blushed, and how she sighed, 
And, half consenting, half denied, 
And said that she would die a maid : — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stayed, 



30 LAY OF THE [CANTO 11 

Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. 



Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain! 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are gray, my limhs are old, 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold :— 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 



Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld, 
The Baron's Dwarf his courser held, 

And held his crested helm and spear : 
That Dwarf was scarcely an eailhly man. 
If the tales were true, that of him ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 
' Twas said, when the Baron a hunting rode 
Through Reedsdale's glens, hut rarely trod, 

He heard a voice ciy, " Lost ! lost ! lost !'' 

And, like tennis-ball by raquet tossed, 
A leap, of thirty feet and three, 

Made from the gorse this elfin shape, 

Distorted like some dwarfish ape, 

And lighted at Lord Cranstoun' s knee. 

Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed; 

'Tis said that five good miles he rade. 
To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four. 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 

XXXII. 

Use lessens marvel, it is said. 

This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; 

Little he ate, and less he spoke. 

Nor mingled with the menial Hock ; 

And oft apart his arms he tossed. 

And often muttered, " Lost ! lost ! lost !'* 
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie, 
But well Lord Cranstoun served he : 



C.VNTO II.] 



LAST MI.NSTREU 



And he of his service was full fain ; 
For once he Lad been ta'en or slain, 
An' it had not been his ministry. 
All, between Home and Hermitage, 
Talked of Lord Craustoun's Gobliu Page, 



For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with him this elvish Page, 

To Mary's chapel of the Lowes: 
For there, beside Our Ladye's lake, 
An otfering he had sworn to make. 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band 
Of the best that would ride at her command 

The trysting place was Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain. 
And thither came John of Thirlestaiue, 
And thither came William of Deloraiue; 

They were three hundred spears and three. 
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream. 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to St Mary's lake ere day ; 
But the chapel was void, and the Baron away. 
They burned the chapel for very rage. 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page,* 

XXXIV. 

And now, in Branksome's good green wood. 

As under the aged oak he stood, 

The Baron's courser pricks his ears. 

As if a distant noise he hears. 

The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high. 

And signs to the lovers to part and fly; 

No time was then to vow or sigh. 

* " Upon 25th June, 1557, Dame Janet Beatoune Lady Buc- 
clench an J a j<feat number of the name of Siiott, delaitit v' accused) 
for coming to tlie kiik of St ^^ary of the I-owes, to the number 
of two hunilred persons bodin in feir of weire (arranged in 
armour), ami breaking open tlie doors of the said kirk, in order 
to apprebfiid the lairri nt Cranstoune for hLs destruction." Abridge- 
ment nf Hooks nf AilJDUTnnl in Advocates'' Library, It is said, 
that, upon this rising, Jie kirk of St Mary was burned by the 
Sootta. 



82 LAY OF THE [CANTO lU 

Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, 
Flew like the startled cushat-dove :* 
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
Vaulted the knight on his steed amain, 
And, pondering deep that morning's scene, 
Kode eastward through the hawthorns green. 

WliiLEthus he poured the lengthened tale. 
The Minstrel's voice hegan to fail : 
Full slyly smiled the observant page, 
And gave the withered hand of age 
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine. 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high. 
And, while the big drop tilled his eye, 
Prayed God to bless the Duchess long. 
And all who cheered a son of song. 
The attending maidens smiled to see. 
How long, how deep, how zealously, 
The precious juice the minstrel quaffed ; 
And he, emboldened by the draught. 
Looked gaily back to them, and laughed. 
The cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul • 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 
Ere thus his tale again began. 



CANTO THIRD. 



I. 

And said I that my limbs were old; 
And said I that my blood was cold, 
And that my kindly fire was fled. 
And my poor withered heart was dead, 
And that I might not sing of love ?— 
How could I to the dearest theme, 

* Wood pigeon. 



CANTO m.] 



LAST MINSTllKL. 33 



That ever warmed a niiu^tvers dream. 

So foul, so false, a recreant pvovte ! 
How could I name iove"s very name. 
Nor wake my heai-t to notes of llamo ! 

II. 

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; 

In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 

In hamlets, dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 

And men l)elo\v, and saints above ; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 



So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, 

"While, pondering deep the tender scene, 

He rode through Branksome's hawthorn grcetl. 

But the Page shouted wild and shrill — 
And scarce his helmet could he don, 

When downward from the shady hill 
A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray, 
Was dark with sweat, and splaslied with clay ; 

His armour red with many a stain ; 
He seemed iu such a weary plight. 
As if he had ridden the live-long night ; 

For it was William of Deloraine. 

IV. 

But no whit Aveary did he seem. 

When, dancing in the sunny beam. 

He marked the crane on the Baron's crest ;* 

For his ready spear was in his rest. 

Few were the words, and stern and high. 
That marked the foemeu's feudal hate; 
For question iierce, and proud reply, 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 



* Tlie crest of the Cranstouiis, iu allusion to their name, is a 
crane dormant, boldiiig a st<ine iu his foot, with an empliatJc 
Border motto. TtUnt shall want ere I want. 

b2 



34 LAY OF THE [CANTO HL 

Their very coursers seemed to kno-w 
That each was other's mortal foe; 
Aud snorted fire, when wheeled around, 
To give each knight his vantage ground. 

V. 

In rapid round the Baron bent; 

He sighed a sigh, and prayed a prayer: 
Tlie prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed, nor prayed, 
Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid; 
But he stooped his head, and couched his spear, 
And spurred his steed to full career. 
The meeting of these champions proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. 

VI. 

Stem was the dint the Borderer lent ! 

The stately Baron backwards bent; 

Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 

And his plumes went scattering on the gale; 

The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 

Into a thousand Hinders Hew. 

But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail. 

Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail^ 

Through shield, and jack, aud acton, past, 

Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 

Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, 

Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 

Down went the steed, the girthing broke. 

Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. 

The Baron onward passed his course; 

Nor knew — so giddy rolled his brain — 

His foe lay stretched upon the plain. 

VII. 

But when he reined his courser round. 
And saw his foeman on the groxmd 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade his page to staunch the wound. 

And there beside the warrior stay, 



CANTO in.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 85 



And tend him in his doubtful state, 
And lead him to Branksorae castle-gate: 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved, 
"This shalt thou do without delay; 
No longer here myself may stay : 
Unless the swifter I speed away, 
Short shrift will be at my dying day." 

VIII. 

Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; 

The Goblin- Page behind abode: 

His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 

Though small his pleasure to do good. 

As the corslet off he took, 

The Dwarf espied the Mighty Book! 

Much he marvelled, a knight of pride 

Like a book-bosomed priest should ride:* 

He thought not to search or staunch the wound, 

Until the seciet he had found. 



The iron band, the iron clasp. 
Resisted long the elfin grasp; 
For when the first he had undone, 
It closed as he the next begun. 
Those iron clasps, that iron band, 
Would not yield to unchristened hand, 
Till he smeared the cover o'er 
With the Borderer's curdled gore; 
A moment then the volume spread. 
And one short spell therein he read. 
It had much of glamourf might. 
Could make a ladye seem a knight; 
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall, 
Seem tapestry in lordly hall; 

* Thei-e is a tradition, that friars were wout to conic from Mel- 
rose, or Jedburgli, to baptize and marry in the parish of Uuthank; 
and, from beinar in use to carry the mass-book in their bosoms, 
ihey were called Book a-bosorn'es. 

i' Glamour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, means tho 
magic power of imposing on the eye-sipht of the spectators, so 
that tnfl apptaranoo of an object shall be totally iliffereut from tbe 
•eality. 



36 



LAY OF THE 



LCANTO 111, 



A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, 

A sheeling* seem a palace large, 

And youth seem age, and age seem youth. — 

All was delusion, nought was truth. 

X, 

He had not read another spell, 

When on his cheek a buffet fell. 

So fierce, it stretched him on the plain. 

Beside the wounded Deloraine. 

From the ground he rose dismayed. 

And shook his huge and matted head; 

One word he muttered, and no more — 

" Man of age, thou smitest sore !" 

No more the Elfin Page durst try 

Into the wondrous Book to pry; 

The clasps, though smeared with Christian gore, 

Shut faster than they were before. 

He hid it underneath his cloak. — 

Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 

It was not given by man alive. 



Unvdllingly himself he addressed, 

To do his master's high behest : 

He lifted up the living corse, 

And laid it on the weiuy horse; 

He led him into Branksome hall. 

Before the beards of the warders all; 

And each did after swear and say, 

There only passed a wain of hay. 

He took him to Lord David's tower, 

Even to the Ladye's secret bower; 

And, but that stronger spells were spread, 

And the door might not be opened, 

He had laid him on her very bed. 

Whate'er he did of gramarye, f 

Was always done maliciously ; 



* A shepherd's hut. 



+ Magir, 



CA>'TO IIL] LAST MINSTREL. 37 

lie fliuis: the -warrior on the ground, 

And tlie blood welled freshly from the wound. 

XII. 

As he repassed the outer court, 

He spied the fair young child at sport: 

He thought to train him to the wood; 

For, at a word, be it luiderstood, 

He was always for ill, and never for good. 

Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay 

Led him forth to the woods to play; 

On the draw-bridire the warders stout 

Saw a terrier and lurcher jmssing out. 

XIII. 
He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 

Until they came to a woodland brook; 
The nmning stream dissolved the spell,* 

And his own elvish shape he took. 
Could he ha\c had his pleasure ivilde. 
He had crij'pled tlie joints of the noble child; 
Or, with his lingers long and lean. 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited; 
So he but scowled on the startled child. 
And daited through the forest wild; 
The woodland brook he bounding crossed, 
And laughed, and shouted, '■'■ Lost I lost ! lost T' 

X.tv. 

Full sore amazed at the wonderous change, 

And frightened, as a child might be, 
At the wild yell and visage strange. 

And the dark words of gramarv'e, 
Tlie child, amidst the forest bower. 
Stood rooted like a lilve Hower; 



» It is a firm article of popr.l.-ir faith, that no enchantment can 
subsist in a livinjr stream. Nay it you can interpose a brook be- 
twixt vou and u-i'tclies, f^ectrosi, or even ticnds.you are in perCecn 
5nfety. Burns"s inimitable Tarn t/' ishanter turns entirely upon 
sucli a arcuniPtaiicc 



38 LAY OF THE 



[CANTO III 



And when at length, with trembling pace, 
He sought to find where Branksome lay, 

He feared to see that grisly face 

Glai'e from some thicket on his way 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on, 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way, 
The farther still he went astray, — 
Until he hoard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of a hound. 

XV. 

And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 

Comes nigher still, and nigher; 
Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground. 

And his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the wildered child saw he, 
He Hew at him right furiouslie. 
I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy. 
When, worthy of his noble sire, 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire! 
He faced the blood-hound manfully, 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed. 

But still in act to spring; 
When dashed an archer through the glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed. 

He drew his tough bow-string ; 
But a rough voice cried, "Shoot not, hoy! 
Ho ! shoot not, Edward — 'tis a boy !" 



The speaker issued from the wood, 
And checked his fellow's surly mood. 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire: 
He was an English yeoman good, 

And born in Lancashire. 



CANTO ra.] lAST MINSTREL. 39 

Well could he hit a fallow deer 

Five hundred feet him fro; 
With hand more true, and eye more clear. 

No archer hended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, 

Set off his sun-burned face; 
Old England's sign, St George's cross, 

His baiTet-cap did grace; 
His bugle horn hung by his side, 

All in a wolf-skin baldric tied; 
And his short faulchion, shai"p and clear, 
Had pierced the throat of many a deer. 

XVII. 

His kirtle, made of forest green. 

Reached scantly to his knee; 
And, at his belt, of arrows keen 

A furbished sheaf bore he ; 
His buckler scarce in breadth a span, 

No longer fence nad he; 
He never counted him a man. 

Would strike below the knee; 
His slackened bow was in his hand, 
And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band.* 

XVIII, 

He would not do the fair child harm, 
But held him with his powerful arm, 
That he might neither fight nor flee; 
For when the Red-Cross spied he, 
The boy strove long and violently. 
" Now, by St George," the archer cries, 
" Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 
This boy's fair face, and courage free, 
Shows he is come of high degree." 

XIX. 

** Yes ! I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 

» This sketch of an Knglish yeoman is imitated from Drdjtcn 
account of Kobvn Hnod and l>is followers. To wound an antago 
iu»t in the tnigh, or leg, \va* reckoned contrary to the law of arnia 



40 LAY OF THK 



[CANTO IIL 



False Suthron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, 
And William of Deloraine, good at need, 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed; 
And, if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, 
I'll have thee hanged to feed the crow T* 

XX. 

"Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy! 
My mind was never set so high; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
And art the son of such a man. 
And ever comest to thy command, 

Our wardens had need to keep in good order : 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border. 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me. 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun. 
When we have taken thy father's son." 

XXI. 

\lthough the child was led away. 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay. 
For so the Dwarf his part did play; 
And, in the shape of that young boy. 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleuch 
He pinched, and beat, and overthrew; 
Nay, some of them he well nigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tie; 
And, as S}Tn Hall stood by the fire, 
He lighted the match of his bandelier,* 
And woefully scorched the hackbutteer.'f 
It may hardly be thought, or said, 
The mischief that the urchin made. 
Till many of the castle guessed. 
That the young Baron was possessed. 



* BandeHer, belt for carrying ammunition. 
•f HackbvUeur, musketeer. 



CANTO III] LAST MINSTILBL. 41 



"Well I ween, the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 

Much she wondered to find him lie, 
On the stone threshold stretched 

She thought some spirit of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong, 
Because, despite her precept dread, 
Perchance he in the Book had read; 
But the broken lance, in his bosom stood. 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 



She drew the splinter from the wound. 

And -with a charm she staunched the blood ; 

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 
No longer by his couch she stood; 

But she has ta'en the broken lance, 
And washed it from the clotted gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.'f' 

William of Deloraine in trance. 

Whene'er she turned it round and round, 
Twisted, as if she galled his wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be whole man and sound, 
"Within the course of a night and day. 

Full long she toiled; for she did rue 

Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV. 

So passed the day — the evening fell, 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm, 
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm : 



* See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scot's Bis- 
eoveHe of irUchcraft, p. 273. 

+ This idea is taken from Sir Kenelm Diffhy's account of bi^ 
B\-mpathetic powder, ivith which he cured allirounds by merely 
anointing with it the weapon tliat had inflicted them. 



42 LAY OF THE [CANTO III 

E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone, 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone; 
Touched a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green; 
Her golden hair streamed free from b»nd, 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
For lovers love the western star. 

XXT. 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

That rises slowly to her ken, 

And, spreading broad its wavering light, 

Shakes its loose tresses on the night? 

Is yon red glare the western star ? — • 

O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war ! 

Scarce could she draw her tightened breath; 

For well she knew the fire of death ! 

XXVI. 

The warder viewed it blazing strong, 
And blew his war-note loud and long. 
Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river, i-ung around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
And startled forth the warriors all; 
Far downiward, in the castle-yard, 
Full many a torch and cresset glared; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed, 
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; 
And spears in wild disorder shook. 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

XXVII. 

The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
Was reddened by the torches' glare, 
Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, 
And issued forth his mandates loud. — 



CANTO in.] 



I.AST MINSTREL. 4^ 



" On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire, 

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire;-}" 

Ride out, ride out, 

The foe to scout! 
Mount, mount for Branksome,J every man! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan. 

That ever are true and stout. — 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
For, when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life. 
And warn the warden of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.*'§ 

XXVIII. 

Fair Margaret, from the turret head. 
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 

While loud the harness rung. 
As to their seats with clamour dread. 

The ready horsemen sprung; 
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats. 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty route, 

The horsemen galloped forth; 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies. 
And warn their vassals, and allies. 

XXIX. 

The ready page, with hurried hand. 
Awaked the need-fire's:|l slumbering brand, 
And ruddy blushed the heaven : 



« J}ale, beacon faggot. + See note on p. 45. 

X Mount for Branksome, was the gathering ^vol•d of the 
Scotts. 

§ On account of the clannish feelings of relationship that sub- 
sisted among the Bordei-ers, a Border chief could muster a largo 
force at a very short notice, whether for the purpoce of surprise or 
rescue. 

II Need-firt, beacon. 



44 LAY OF THE [CANTO 111. 

For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, 
"Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, 

All flaring and uneven, 
And soon a score of fires, I ween. 
From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen; 
Each with warlike tidings fraught; 
Each from each the signal caught; 
Each after each they glanced to sight. 
As stars arise upon the night. 
They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,* 
Haunted by the lonely earn;"!* 
On many a cairn's gray pyramid. 
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;^r 
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law; 
And Lothian heard the Regent's order, 
That all should bowiie§ them for the Border. 

XXX. 

The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel; 
The castle-bell, with backward clang, 

Sent forth the lai-um peal; 
"Was frequent heard the heavy jar; 
Where massy stone and iron liar 
"Were piled on echoing keep and tower, 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard. 
And Avatch-word from the sleepless ward? 
While, wearied by the endless din, 
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within. 

XXXI. 

The noble Dame, amid the broil, 
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil. 
And spoke of danger with a smile; 

* Tarn, a mountain Lake. + ^ar7i, a Scottish eagle. 

J The cairns, or piles of loose stone, Mliicli crowii the summit oi 
most of our Scottish hills, seein usually to have been sepulchral 
monuments. Six flat stones are commonly found in the centre, 
forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, in which an urn 
is often placed. 

§ Howne, make reaOv. 



CANTO IV.] 



LAST MINSTllKL. 



43 



Cheered tlie j-oung knight?, and council sage 
Hekl with the chiei's of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought, 
Nor of his numliers knew they ought, 
Nor in what time the truce he sought. 

Some said, that there were thousands ten, 
And others weened that it was nought 
But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, 
Who c^me to gather in hlack mail ;* 
And Liddesdale, with small avail, 

Might drive them lightly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 

Applaud the Master of the Song; 

And marvel much, in helpless age. 

So hard should be his pilgrimage. 

Had he no friend — no daughter dear, 

His wandering toil to share and cheer; 

No son, to be his father's stay, 

And guide him on the rugged way.' — 

"Aye! once he had — but he was deadf" 

Upon the harp he stooped his head. 

And busied himself the strings withal. 

To hide the tear, that fain would fall. 

Jn solemn measure, soft and slow, 

Arose a father's notes of woe. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires+ blaze no more; 

* PxnteotKm-money exacted by free-booters. 

+ The Border boacoiis, frcnn tlieir miniber and position, formed 
a sort of teleijrapliic cnnimiiiiication with Edinburgh. — The art of 
parliament 1155, <■. 18. directs that one bale or faggot shall be warn- 
ing of the approach of the P'liirlish in any manner ; two bales, that 
they are coming indeed; four" bales, blazing beside each other, tbdf 
the euemy are la great force. 



46 LAY OF THE [cANTO IV 

No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed shore 
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill, 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since Time was bom. 
Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, 
Had only Leard the shepherd's reed, 

Nor stalled at the bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike the tide of human time, 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 

Retains each grief, retains each crime. 

Its earliest course was doomed to know, 
And, darker as it downward bears. 
Is stained with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebbed with me. 
It still reflects to memoiy's eye 
The hour, my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee.* 
AVhy, when the volleying musket played 
Against the bloody Highland blade, 
Why was not I beside him laid ! — 
Enough — he died the death of fame ; 
Enough — he died ■with conquering Grseme. 

III. 
Now over Border dale and fell. 

Full Avide and far was terror spread ; 
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell. 

The peasant left his lowly shed.-t* 
The frightened Hocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement; 
And m^aids and matrons dropped the tear, 
While ready warriors seized the spear. 
From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye 
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy. 



* The Viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of Kjllycrankie, 
+ The Morasses were the asual refiige of the Border herdsmeii, 
on the approach of au English army. Caves, hewed in the most 
dangerous and inaccessible ijla&es, also afforded an occcisioual re- 
treat. 



C.VKIO IV. J LAST MINSTREL. ^-j 

Which, curling in the rising sun, 
Showed southern ravage was begun.* 



Now loud the heedful gate- ward cried — 
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood! 
Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddle-side,f 

Comes wading through the flood. 
Full oft the T)-nedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock; 
It was but last St Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night, 
But lied at morning; well they knew. 
In vain he never twanged the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower, 
That drove him from his Liddle tower; 
And, by my faith," the gate- ward said, 
"I thmk 'twill prove a War den- Raid." J 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 
Entered the echoing barbican. 
He led a small and shagg}- nag. 
That through a bog, from hag to hag,§ 
Could bound like any Bilhope stag;|| 
It bore his wife and children twain ; 
A half-clothed serf^ was all their train: 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed. 
Of silver broach and bracelet proud,** 
Laughed to her friends among the crowd. 



* The mutual cruelties of the Borderers, and the personal hatretl 
of the Wardens gave to the Border wars, betu een England and 
Scotland, a chmracter of sai-age atrocity which could not he para- 
lelled even in the wars of the sixteenth century. 

t Watt Tinlinn was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and 
held for his Border ser\-ice a small tower on the frontiers of Lid- 
des'iale. M'att was, by profession, a sulor ("shoemaker), but, by 
inclination and practice, an archer and warrior. 

t An inroad commanded by the AVarden iu person. 

g The broken ground iu a bog. 

11 Bilhope was famous among" hunters for bucks and roes. 

*l Bonds-man. 

** The Borderers, on account of being exposed to ha%'in» their 
houses burned or plundered, were anxious to display Epletidour iu 
decorating and oi-nameuting their feinules. 



48 X-AY OF THE [C.VNTO IV 

He was of stature passing tall. 

But sparely formed, and lean Avitlial : 

A battered morion on his brow; 

A leathern jack, as fence enow, 

On his broad shoulders loosely hung; 

A border-axe behir.J was slung; 

His spear, six Scottish ells iu length, 
Seemed newly dyed with gore; 

His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, 
His hardy partner bore. 



Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 

The tidings of the English foe: — 

" Belted Will Howard is marching here,* 

And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, 

And all the German hagbut-men,i- 

"Who have long lain at Askertain: 

They crossed the Liddle at curfew hour, 

And burned my little lonely tower ; 

The fiend receive their souls therefor 1 

It had not been burned this year and more. 

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, 

Served to guide me on my flight; 

But I was chased the live-long night. 

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Grseme, 

Fast upon my traces came. 

Until I turned at Priesthaugh-Scrogg, 

And shot their horses iu the bog, 

* TiOrd AVilliam Howard, tliird son of Thoirfts, duVe of Norfolk. 
By a poetical aiuii-hroiiism, he is introduced into the romance a 
few years earlier than lie actually flourLshed, He was warden of 
the Western Marches; aiid from the rigour with whicli he re- 
pr(!ssed the Border excesses, the name of Belted Will Howard is 
still famous in our tradjtioi.s. The well-known name of Dacre is 
derived from the exploits of one of their ancestors at the siege oi 
Acre or Ptolemais, under Richard Cceui- de Lion. The loid Dacre 
of this period, was a man of hot and obstinate character, as appears 
from someparticularsof lord Surrey's letter to Henry VIII., giving 
an account of his behaviour at the siege and storm of Jedburglu 

+ In the wars with Scotland, Henry ^'III.. and his successors 
employed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the battle of 
I'iuky there were in the English army six hundred hackbutteers, 
or 7nu.ske-leers on foot, and two hundred on horseback, composed 
ohieHy of foreigners. From the battle-pieces of the ancient Flem- 
ish painters, we learn that the Iiow-Couutry and Geriuaii soldiers 
inarclied to an assa'ilt with their right knees bared. 



C/-NTO I v.] LAST MINSTREL. 49 

Sehv Fergus with my lance outright — 

I had him long at high despite : 

He drove my cows last Fastern's night." 

YII. 

Xow weary scouts from Liddesdale, 

Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale; 

As far as they could judge by ken, 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen. — 
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band. 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade. 
Came in, their Chiefs defence to aid. 



From fair St Mar)'''s silver wave, 

From dreaiy Gamescleuch's dusky height, 
His ready lances Thirlestane brave* 

Arrayed beneath a banner bright, 
The treasured tleur-de-iuce he claims 
To wreathe his shield, since royal James, 
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave, 
'I'he proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Gf Scotland's stubborn barons none 

"Would march to southern wars; 
A nd hence, in fair remembrance worn. 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne : 
Hence his high motto shines revealed, — 
" Ready, aye ready," for the field. 

IX. 

An aged knight, to danger steelod, 
With many a moss-trooper, camo on: 



'* When James had assembled his nobility at Fala, to invjd"? 
S^nrfand, and was disappointed by their refusa!, Sii John Scott of 
Thirlestane alone declared himself ready to loUowthe kin^^vhcr- 
ever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James granted to 
hi3 family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear a border of 
Qears-de-luce, similar to the treasure in the royal arms, \vith a 
bundle of spears for the crest; motto, Ready, aye read", 
C 



50 LAY OF THE [CANTO IV 

And azure in a golden field, 

The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Without the bend of Murdieston.* 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower. 
And -svide round haunted Castle-Ower; 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood, 
His wood-embosomed mansion stood; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plundered England low; 
His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the moniing fight; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms, 
In youth, might tame his rage for arms; 
And still, in age, he spurned at rest, 
And still his brows the helmet pressed. 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Where white as Dinlay's spotless snow: 

Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand. 

X. 

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came. 
And warriors more than I may name; 
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair, 

From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen, 
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear; 

Their gathering word was Bellenden.x 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 

* "Walter Scott of Harden, uho flourished during the reign of 
Queen Mary, was a renowned Uorder freebooter, whose castle was 
situate upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, through 
which a scanty rivulet stea's to meet the Borthwick. In the re- 
cess of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which ser fed for 
the daily maintenance ot his retainers, until the production of a 
pair of clean spurs in a covered dish, announced to the hungry 
band, that they must ride for a supply of provisions. He wag 
married to Mai-y Scott, called in song the KU)wer of Yarrow. 

+ Ballenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and. 
being in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was frequently 
used as their place of rendezvous and gathering word. 



CANTO IV.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 51 



The Ladye marked tlie aids come in, 
And high her heart of pride arose; 
She bade her youthful son attend, 
That he might know his father's friend, 

And learn to face his foes. 
" The boy is ripe to look on war ; 

I saw him diaw a cross-bow stiff, 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
Tlie Red Cross, on a southern breast, 
Is broader than the raven's nest : 
Thou, "WTiitslade, shalt teach him his "weapon to 
And o'er him hold his father's shield.'* [wield, 



Well may you think, the wily Page 

Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 

He counterfeited childish "fear. 

And shrieked, and shed full many a tear. 

And moaned and plained in manner wild. 
The attendants to the Ladye told. 

Some f:Jry, sure, had changed the child. 
That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble dame; 
She blushed blood-red for very shame : — ■ 
" Hence ! ere the clan his faintness view ; 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! — 
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide 
To Ranglebum's lonely side. — 
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line. 
That coward should e'er be son of minel" 

XII. 

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had. 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as his palfrey felt the weight 
Of that ill-omen'd elvish freight, 
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain. 
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toU 
To drive him but a Scottish mile; 
But, aa a shallow brook they crossed, 



52 LAY OF THE [CANTO I\ 

The elf, amid the running stream, 

His figure changed, like Ioito in dream, 

And lied, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost T' 
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, 
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew. 
And i^ierced his shoulder through and through. 
Although the imp might not be slain. 
And though the wound scon healed again, 
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain ; 
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, 
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 



Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood. 
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood ; 
And martial murmurs, from below. 
Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. 
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, 
Were Border-pipes and bugles blown ; 
The coursers' neigliing he could ken. 
And measured tread of marching men ; 
While broke at times the t^olemn hum, 
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum ; 

And banners tall, of crimson sheen. 
Above the copse appear ; 

And, glistening through the ha-v\i;honis green. 
Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 

XIV. 
Light forayers first, to \-iew the ground, 
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round 
Behind, in close array and fast. 

The Kendal archers, all in green, 
Obedient to the bugle blast, 

Advancing from the wood are seen. 
To back and guard the archer band. 
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand; 
A hardy race, on Irthing bred. 
With kirtles white, and crosses red. 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall^ 
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered vrall :, 



CAXTO IV.] LAST MINSTREL. 53 

And minstrels, as they marched in order, [der." 

Played, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Bor- 



Behind the English hill and bow, 
The mercenaries, firm and slow, 

Moved on to tight, in dark array, 
Bv Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 
Who brought the band from distant Rhine, 

And sold their blood for foreign pay. 
The camp their home, their law the sword. 
They knew no comitry, owned no lord:* 
They were not armed like England's sons, 
But bore the levin-darting guns ; 
Buff-coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er. 
And morsing-horns't' and scarfs they wore ; 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade ; 
All, as they marched, in rugged tongue. 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 



But louder still the clamour grew, 

And louder still the minstrels blew. 

When, from beneath the greenwood tree. 

Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry ; 

His men at arms, with glaive and spear. 

Brought up the battle's glittering rear. 

There many a youthf-il Icnight, full keen 

To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ; 

W^ith favour in his crest, or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array. 

Till full their lengthened lines display; 

Then called a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, " St George, for meriy England !" 

* Such were the mercenary soldiers who figure in the middio 
Qges under the names of Brabangons, Condottierri, and Free-Con*- 
paiiions who farmed their serv^.cea to the best bidders, and pro- 
claimed themselveg " the friends of God, and enemies of all the 
world.' 

t Powder flasks. 



54 liA-Y OF THE [CANTO IV 



Now every English eye, intent, 
On Branksome's aimed towers was bent; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The straining harsh of each cross-bow ', 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan ; 
Falcon and culver,* on each tower, 
Stood prompt their deadly liail to shower; 
And Hashing armour frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke, 
Where, upon tower and turret head, 
The seething pitch and molten lead 
Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red. 
AVhile yet they gaze, the bridges fall, 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. 

XVIII. 

Armed he rode, all save the head. 

His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread; 

Unbroke by age, erect his seat, 

He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 

Forced him, with chastened tire, to prance, 

And, high curvetting, slow advance : 

In sign of ti-uce, his better hand 

Displayed a peeled willow wand; 

His squire, attending in the rear. 

Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. "j* 

When they espied him riding out. 

Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 

Sped to the front of their array, 

To hear what this old knight should say. 



" Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 



* Ancient pieces of artillery. 

• A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the an 
cic-.T borderers, who were wont, when any one brclce liis word, 
to exjose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the 
6ist Border meeting. 



■.AST MINSTREL. 65 



Why, 'gainst the truce of Border-tide, 

In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 

With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand. 

And all your mercenary band. 

Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 

My Ladye reads you swith return; 

And, if but one poor straw you burn, 

Or do our towers so much molest, 

As scare one swallow from her nest, 

St Mary ! but we'll light a brand. 

Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.* 



A wrathful man was Dacre's lord. 
Bat calmer Howard took the word : — 
" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall; 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show, 
Both why we came, and when we go." 
The message sped, the noble Dame 
To the walls' outward circle came; 
Eacli chief around leaned on his spear, 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery dressed. 
The lion argent decked his breast; 
He led a hoy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made, 
And thus his master's will he said. 

XXI. 

" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords: 
But yet they may not tamely see, 
All through the western wardenry, 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride. 
And burn aiid spoil the ISordor-side; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a fie mens- firth.* 

« An 03-/1 um for onUaws, 



56 LAY OF THE [CANTO IV 

We claim from thee William of Deloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason pain :* 
It was but last St Cuthbert's even 
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harriedf the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed Dame 
These restless riders may not tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers, 
Or straight they sound their warison,J 
And storm and spoil thy garrison; 
And this fair boy, to London led, 
Shall good King Edward's page be bred.^ 



He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, 
And stretched his little arms on high; 
Implored for aid each well-kno^vn face, 
And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer. 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear; 
She gazed upon the leaders round, 
And dark and sad each warrior frowned; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She locked the struggling sigh to rest; 
Unaltered and collected stood, 
And thus replied, in dauntless mood. 



" Say to your Lords of high emprize, 

Who war on woman and on boys, 

That either William of Deloraine 

Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,§ 



* Several species of offences, peciiHar to the Border, conatitntrd 
\rhat was called march-treasou- Among others, was the crime c< 
riding, or causing to ride, against the opposire country durin? th? 
time of truce. 

+ Plundered . J Note of assault. 

§ In dubious cases, the innocence of Border-crimiaols »tu 
occasionally referred to their own oath. 



CANTO IV.] LAST MINSTREL. 57 

Or else lie will the combat take 

Gainst Musgrave, lor his honour's sake. 

i\o knight in Cumberland so good, 

But William may count with him kin and blood. 

Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword, 

When English blood swelled Ancram ford;* 

And but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight, 

And bare him ably in the flight, 

Himself had seen him dubbed a knight. 

For the young heir of Brauksome's line, 

God be his aid, and God be mine ; 

Through me no friend shall meet his doom ; 

Here while I live, no foe finds room. 

Then, if thy lords their purpose urge, 
Take our defiance loud and high ; 

Our slogan is their lyke-wakef dirge. 

Our moat, the grave where they shall lie." 

XXIV. 

Proud she looked round, applause to claim — ■. 
Then liglitened Thirlestane's eye of flame ; 

His ])ugle Watt of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 
To heaven the Border slogan rung, 

" St Mary for the young Buccleuch !" 
The English war-ciy answered wide, 

And forward bent each southern spear ; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride. 

And drew the bow-string to his ear : 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blcwn ; 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman galloped from the rear. 



« The digTiity of knighthood, accordiug to the original institu- 
tion, had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the monarch 
but could be conferred by one who himself possessed it, upon any 
squire who, after due probation, was found to merit the honour 
of chivalry. Tlie battle of Ancrarn Moor, or Penielheuch, which 
was fought A. D. 15!5, was considered sufficient probation for thut 
honour. The English, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers and Sir 
Brian Latoim, wei e totally routed, and both their leaders slain in 
the action. The Scottish army was commanded by Archibald 
Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the laird of Buccleuch and 
Norman Lesley. 

t Lyke-ioake, the watching a corpse previous to interment. 

c2 



58 LAY OP Tlia LCAUTO IV. 



" Ah ! noble Lords !" he, breathless, said, 

" What treason has your march betrayed? 

What make you here, from aid so far, 

Before you walls, around you war ? 

Your foemen triumph in the thought, 

That in the toils the lion's caught. 

Already on dark Ruberslaw 

The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw :* 

The lances, waving in his train, 

Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain ; 

And on the Liddle's northern strand. 

To bar retreat to Cumberland, 

Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good. 

Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 

And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 

Have to proud Angus come ; 
And all the Merse and Lauderdale 

Have risen with haughty Home. 
An exile from Northumberland, 

In Liddesdale I've wandered long; 
But still my heart was with merry England, 

And canjiot brook my country's wrong. 
And hard I've spurred all night, to show 
The mustering of the coming foe." 

XXVI. 

" And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ; 
" For soon yon crest, my father's pride, 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea, 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers displayed. 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid ! — 
Level each harquebuss on row ; • 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die !" 

XXVII. 
*' Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hoar, 
Nor deem my words the words of fear : 

• Weapon-schaw, tho u-litary array of a coxmty. 



CANTO IV.i LAST MINSTREL. 59 

For who ill field or foray slack 

Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back?* 

But thus to ris(|ue our Border Hower 

In strife against a kingdom's power, 

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands thi-eo, 

Certes, were desperate policy. 

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 

Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 

Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraiue*)* 

In single fight ; and if he gain, 

He gains for us ; but if he's crossed, 

'Tis but a single warrior lost : 

The rest, retreating as they came, 

Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." 

XXVIII. 
Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother- warden's sage rebuke; 
And yet his forward step he staid, 
And slow and sullenly obeyed : 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendship ride; 
And this slight discontent, men say. 
Cost blood upon another day. 



The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 
His trumpet called, with parleying strain. 

The leaders of the Scottish band ; 
And he defied, in Musgrave's right, 
Stout Deloraine to single fight ; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the terms of fight he said : — 
'' If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord. 

Shall hostage for his clan remain : 

* This was the cognisance of the noble house of Howard ia aJl 
its branches. The crest, or bearing, of a warrior, was often used 
lis a nnrnnie de guerre. 

+ Trial by siii!j;le combat, 60 peculiar to the feudal system, wag 
the Borders. 



oO LAY OF THE [CANTO IV 

If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have. 

However it falls, the English band, 
Uuharming Scots, by Scots unharmed, 
In peaceful masch like men unarmed, 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 

XXX. 

Unconscious of the near relief. 

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief. 

Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed : 
For though their hearts were brave and tixie, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew, 

Hovv' tardy was the regent's aid ; 
And you may guess the noble Dame 

Durst not the secret prescience own, 
Sprung from the art she might not name. 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed 
That lists should be enclosed with speed 

Beneath the castle on a lawn : 
They fixed the morrow for the strife. 
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ; 
When Deloraine, from sickness freed, 
Or else a champion in his stead, 
Should for himself and chieftain stand. 
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 

XXXI. 

I know right well, that, in their lay, 
Full many minstrels sing and say, 

Such combat should be made on horse, 
On foaming steed, in full career, 
With brand to aid, when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
But he, the jovial Harper, taught* 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 

In guise which now I say : 

* The i)erson, here alluded to, is one of nnr Biicient Boitit-t 
miijstrels, called Kattliiig Koaiiii,c; Willie, Willie, cliatic»-il to 



61 



CANTO IV.] LAST MINSTREL. 

He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of black Lord Archibald's battle laws, 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax liis minstrelsy with wrong, 

Or call his song untrue : 
For this when they the goblet plied, 
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, 

The bard of ReuU he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in fight, they stood, 
And tuneful hands were stained with blood; 
Where still the thorn's white branches wave, 
Llemorial o'er his rival's grave. 



Why should I tell the rigid doom, 
That dragged my master to his tomb ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hail", 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, 
And '\\Tung their hands for love of him. 

Who died at Jedwood Air? 
He died ! — his scholars, one by one, 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas ! survive alone. 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 
And grieve that I shall hear no moro 
The strains, with envy heard before ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled. 
My jealousy of song is dead, 

He paused : — the listening dames pgtdu 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain; 
With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the Duchess how so well 
His legendarj' scr.g could tell — 

quarrel with one of his own profession, distinguished by the odd name 
of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule water so called. They retired 
to decide the contest with their swords, and Sweet Milk was killed 
on the spot; inconsequeneeofwhich Willie was taken and executed 
at Jedburgh, bequeathing his name to the beautiful Scotch air, 
called " Rattling Roaring Willie." 



OiS LAY OF THE [CANTO V, 

Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, Avhose memoiy was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbour now the hare ;* 
Of manners, long since changed and gone ; 
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long had slept, that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name, 
And twined round some new minion's head 
The fading wreath for which they bled ; — ■ 
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verso 
Could call them from their marble hearse. 

The Harper smiled, well pleased ; for ne'er 
Was flatterj' lost on poet's ear : 
A simple race ! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flame expires, 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, 
And strivi s to trim the short-lived blaze. 

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
Who say, that, when the Poet dies. 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
And celebrates his obsequies ; 

Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, 

For the departed bard make moan ; 

That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 

Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 

And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 



CANTO V.l LAST MINSTREL. 63 

And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 

IT. 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 

Those thinijs inanimate can mourn ; 

But that the stream, the wood, the gale. 

Is vocal with the plaintive wail 

Of those, who, else forgotten long, 

Lived in the poet's faithful song. 

And, with the poet's parting breath. 

Whose memoiy feels a second death. 

The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 

That love, true love, should he forgot, 

From rose and hawthorn shakes the teax 

Upon the gentle minstrel's bier : 

Tlie phantom knight, his gloiy fled. 

Mourns o'er the fields he heaped with dead; 

Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain. 

And shrieks along the battle-plain : 

Tlie chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in the feudal song, 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 

Sees, in the thanedom once his own. 

His ashes undistinguished He, 

His place, his power, his memory die : 

His groans the lonely caveros fill, 

His tears of rage impel the rill ; 

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung. 

Their name unknown, their praise unsung. 

IIT. 

Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 

The terms of truce were scarcely made,^ 

When they could spy, from Branksome's towers, 

The advancing march of martial powers ; 

Thick clouds of dust afar appeared. 

And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 

Bright spears, above the columns dun. 

Glanced momentary to the sun ; 

And feudal banners fair displayed 

The bands that moved to Branksome's aid. 



^ LAY OF THK tG-\NTO V. 

IV. 

'Vails not to tell each hardy clan, 

From the fair MMdle Marches came ; 
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van,* 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name ! 
'Vails not to tell Avhat steeds did spurn, 
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderbum*!* 

Their men in battle-order set ; 
And Swinton laid the lance in rest, 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantagenet.:}: 
Nor lists, I say, what hundreds mor«. 
From the rich Merse and Ijaramermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to the "war, 
Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled banners come, 
Down the steep mountain glittering far. 

And shouting still, " a Home ! a Home F'§ 



Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent, 
On many a courteous message went ; 
To eveiy chief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 
And told them, — how a truce was made, 
And how a day of fight was ta'en 
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ; 
And how the Ladye prayed them dear, 



* The bloody heart was the ^vell-kno\^^^ cognisance of tlie house 
of Douglas, assumed from the time of Good I-ord Jaines, to whose 
care Robert Bruce committed his heart, to be carried to the Holy 
Land. 

t Sir David Home of Wedderburn, slain in the fetal battle of 
Klodden, left seven sons who were called the Seven Spears ot 
Weddeibume. 

X At the battle of Bouge in France, Thomas, Duke of Clarence, 
brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton of Swiu- 
tcn, who distinguished him by a coronet set with precious stones, 
which he wore around his helmet. 

§ The Karls of Home, were descendants of the Dmibars, ancient 
Earls of March The slogan, or war-cry, of this powerful family 
was, "a Homel a Home!" The Hepburns, a powerful family ia 
East Lothian, were usually in close alliance with the Ho 



CA:rro v.] last minstrel. 65 

That all would stay the fight to see, 

And deign, in love and courtesy, 
To taste of Branksome cheer. 
iVor, Avhile they bade to feast each Scot, 
Were England's noble Lords forgot ; 
Himself, the hoary Seneschal, 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
Accejited Howard, than whom knight 
Was never dubbed, more bold in fight ; 
Nor, when from war and armour froe, 
More famed for stately courtesy : 
But angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 



Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask. 

How these two hostile armies met ? 
Deeming it were no easy task 

To keep the tiiice which here was set; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire. 
Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 
By mutual inroads, mutual blows. 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

They met on Teviot's strand : 
They met, and sate them mingled down. 
Without a threat, without a frown, 

As brothers meet in foreign land : 
The hands, the spear that lately grasped, 
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped, 

Were interchanged in greeting dear; 
Visors were raised, and faces sho\vn, 
And many a friend, to friend made known. 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about; 

With dice and draughts some chased the day ; 
And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot revelr}-, and rout, 

Pursued the foot-ball play.* 

* Tlie foot-ball was anciently a very favourite eport all throngh 
BcotJand, but especially on tlie Borders. 



66 LAY OF THE 



[Cai>nx) V. 



Yet be it kno-wTi, had bugles blown. 

Or sign of war been seen ; 
Those bands, so fair together ranged, 
Those hands, so frankly interchanged, 

Had dyed with gore the green : 
The merry shout by Teviot-side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, 

And in the groan of death ; 
And whingers,"' now in friendship bare. 
The social meal to part and share, 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change 
Was not unfrequent, nor held strange, 

In the old Border-day ;i' 
But yet on Branksome's towers and to-wn. 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 

The sun's declining my. 



The blithesome signs of wassel gay 
Decayed not with the dying day; 
Soon through the latticed windows tall. 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 
Divided square by shafts of stone, 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With merry harp and beakers' clang; 

And frequent, on the darkening plain. 
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, 

As bands, their stragglers to regain, 

Give the shrill watch- word of their clan ; 

And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 

Douglas 01 Dacre's conquering name. 

* A sort of knife, or poniard. 

+ Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, the 
Inhabitants on either side appear to hiive regarded ejch other liko 
the outposts of hostile armies, and often carried on somethinff re- 
sembling friendly intercourse, even m the middle of bostilitim, i<* 
that the governments of both countries were jealous of tbdr 
berishing too intimate a connexion. 



CANTO V, 



LAST MINSTRIX. 67 



IX. 
Less frequent heard, and fainter still, 

At length the various clamours died ; 
And you might hear, from Branksome hill, 

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 
Save, when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could tell ; 
And save, where, through the dark profound. 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from the nether Ijlwti ; 
For many a busy hand toiled there, 
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square. 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare, 

Against the morrow's dawn. 



Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 

Despite the Dame's reproving eye, 
Nor marked she, as she left her seat. 

Full many a stifled sigh : 
For many a noble warrior strove 
To win the flower of Teviot's love, 

And many a bold ally. — 
With throbbing head and anxious heart, 
AJl in her lonely bower apart, 

In broken sleep she lay : 
By times, from silken couch she rose ; 
W hile yet the bannered hosts repose. 

She viewed the dawning day : 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest. 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 

XI. 

She gazed upon the inner court. 

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; 
\yhere coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, 

Had rung the live-long yesterday ; 
Now still as death; — till, stalking slow, — 

The jingling spurs announced his tread, — 
A stately wai-rior passed below ; 

But when he raised his plumed head — 
Blessed Mary ! can it be ? — 



bo lAY OF THE [CANTO V 

Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 

He walks through Branksome's hostile towers 
With fearless step and free. 
Slie dare not sign, she dare not speak — 
Oh ! if one page's slumbers break, 

His blood the price must pay ! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears, 

Shall buy his life a day. 



Yet was his hazard small — ^for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 

Of that sly urchin Page ; 
This to his lord he did impart 
And made him seem, by glamour art, 

A knight from Hermitage. 
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's post, 
The court, unchallenged, thus ho crossed. 

For all the vassalage : 
But, O ! what magic's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 

She started from her seat; 
While with surprise and fear she strove, 
And both could scarcely master love — 

Lord Henry's at her feet. 

xin. 
Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 

To bring this meeting round; 
For happy love's a heavenly sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found: 
And oft I've deemed, perchance ho thought 
Their erring passion might have wrought 

Sorrow, and sin, and shame; 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight, 
And to the gentle Ladye bright, 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so -weillt 



CANTO v.] LAST MINSTREL. G9 

True love's the gift wliich God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven, 

it is not Fantasy's hot Hie, 

^^'hose wishes, soon as granted, fly; 

It liveth not in tierce desire. 

With dead desire it doth not die: 
It is the secret s}Tmpathy, 
The silver link, "the silken tie. 
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 
In body and in soul can bind. — 
Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 
To tell you of the approaching fight. 

XIV. 

Their warning blast the bugles blew. 
The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan; 

In haste, the deadly strife to view. 
The trooping warriors eager ran : 

Thick round the lists their lances stood. 

Like blasted pines in Ettricke wood; 

To Branksome many a look they threw, 

The combatants' approach to ^•iew, 

A-nd bandied many a word of boast, 

About the knight each favoui'ed most. 
XV. 

Meantime full anxious was the Dame; 

For now arose disputed claim. 

Of who should fight for Deloraine, 

'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Tliirlestaine : 
They 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 
And frowning brow on brow was b«nt; 

But yet not long the strife — for, lo! 
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 
Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain. 
In armour sheathed from top to toe, 

Appeared, and craved the combat due. 

The Dame her charm successful knew. 

And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. 

XVI. 

When for the lists they sought the plain. 
The stately Ladye's bilken rein 



70 LAY OF THE [CANTO 

Did noHe Howard hold; 
Unarmed by her side he walked, 
Aud much, in courteous phrase, they talked 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb, his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff, 

With satin slashed, and lined; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, 
His cloak was all of Poland fur, 

His hose with silver twined; 
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 
Hung in a broad and studded belt; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
Called noble Howard, Belted Will. 

XVII, 
Behind Lord Howard and the D.une, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, 

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground; 
White was her wimple, and her veil, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side. 
In courtesy to cheer her tried; 
Without his aid, her hand iu vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered rein. 
He deemed, she shuddered at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal tight; 
But cause of terror, all unguessed, 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast. 
When, in their chairs of crimson placed, 
The Dame and she the barriers giaced. 

XVIII. 
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch 
An English knight led forth to view; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight, 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists, in knightly pride, 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield. 
As marshals of the mortal field : 



C.AMO V ] LAST JIINSTREL. 

While to each knight their care assigned 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then lieralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
In king and queen, and wardens' name. 

Than none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, 
Aid to a champion to afford, 

On peril of his life; 
And not a breath the silence broke. 
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke : 

XIX. 

ENGLISH HERALD. 

Here standeth Richard of IMusgravo, 

Good knight and true, and freely bom, 
Amends from Deloraine to crave. 

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws; 
This with his sword he will maintain, 

So help him God, and his good cause I 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

Here standeth William of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain, 
WTio sayeth, that foul treason's stain, 

Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coafe; 
And that, so help him God above. 
He will on Musgrave s body prove. 
He lyes most foully in his throat. 

LORD DACRE. 

Forward, brave champions, to the fight! 
Sound trumpets ! 

LORD HOME. 

" God defend the right!" — 

Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang, 
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid list, with shield poised high, 
iVnd measured step and wary eye. 

The combatants did close. 



71 



72 LAY OF THE 



[CANTO \". 



Ill would it suit your gentle ear, 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did sound. 

And blood poured down from many a wounil; 

For desperate was the strife, and long, 

And either warrior tierce and strong. 

But, were each dame a listening knight, 

I well could tell how warriors hght; 

For I have seen war's lightning iiashing, 

Seen the clajTnore with hayonet clashing, 

Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, 

And scorned, amid the reeling strife. 

To yield a step for death or life. 

XXII. 
'Tis done, 'fis done ! that fatal blow 

Has stretched him on the bloody plain; 
He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no ! 

Thence never shalt thou rise again ! 
He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band. 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp. 
And give him room for life to gasp! — 
O, bootless aid ! — haste holy Friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 
And smooth his path from earth to heavejl, 

XXIII, 
In haste the holy Friar sped ; — • 
His naked foot Avas dyed with red, 

As through the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high, 
That hailed the conqueror's victory. 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair. 
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer 5 
And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And still he bends an anxious ear. 
His faltering penitence to hear •, 



CANTO v.] LAST MINSTREL. 73 

Still props him from the hloody sod, 
Still, e%'en when soul and body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids him tnist in God ! 
Unheard he prays ; — the death pang's o'er I— 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 



As if exhausted in the fight. 
Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 
Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, amid the thronged array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
\Mio downward from the castle ran: 
He crossed the barriers at a bound, 

Aad wild and haggard looked around, 
As dizzy, and in pain ; 

And all, upon the armed ground. 
Knew William of Deloraine ! 
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed; 
Vaulted each marshall from his steed ; 

" And who art thou," they cried, 
"Who hast this battle fought and won?" 
His plumed helm was soon undone— 

"■ Cranstoun of Teviotside ! 
For this fair prize I've fought and won,** — 
And to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV. 

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed. 
And often pressed him to her breast; 
For, under all her dauntless show. 
Her heart had throbbed at every blow ; 
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet. 
Though low he kneeled at her feet. — 



74 LAY OF THE [CANTO V 

Me lists not tell wtat words were made, 
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said — 

— For Howard was a generous foe — 
And how the clan imited prayed, 

The Ladye would the feud forego, 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. 



She looked to river, looked to hill, 

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, 
Then broke her silence stem and still, — 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me ; 
Their influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, 

For pride is quelled, and love is free." 
She took fair Margaret by the hand, 
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand. 

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she. 
** As I am true to thee and thine. 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
For this is your betrothing day. 
And all these noble lords shall stay, 

To grace it with their company." 



All as they left the listed plain, 

Much of the story she did gain : 

How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, 

And of his Page, and of the Book, 

Which from the wounded knight he took ; 

And how he sought her castle high. 

That mom, by help of gramarye ; 

How, in Sir William's armour dight. 

Stolen by his Page, while slept the knight, 

He took on him the single tight. 

But half his tale he left unsaid, 

And lingered till he joined the maid. — 

Cared not the Ladye to betray 

Her mystic arts in view of day ; 



JANTO v.] I<ASI MINSiaSL. 75 

But well she thouglit ; ere midnight came^ 

Of that strange Page the pride to tame. 

From his foid hands the 13ook to save, 

And send it back to Michael's grave.— 

Needs not to tell each tender word 

'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord ; 

Nor how she told of former woes, 

And how her bosom fell and rose, 

While he and Musgrave bandied blows — 

Needs not these lovers' joys to tell ; 

One day, fair maids, you'll know them well, 

XXVIII, 

William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had wakened from Ms deathlike trance; 

And taught that, in the listed plain. 
Another, in his arms and shield. 
Against tierce Musgrave axe did vrield. 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran. 
And hence his presence scared the clan. 
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,* 
And not a man of blood and breath. 

Not much this new ally he loved. 

Yet, when he saw what hap had proved. 
He greeted him right heartUie : 

He would not waken old debate, 

For he was void of rancorous hate. 
Though rude, and scant of courtesy; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood. 
Unless when men at arms withstood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe : 

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now, 

^\^len on dead Musgrave he looked down ; 

Grief darkened on his rugged brow. 
Though half disguised with a frown ; 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
Hb foeman's epitaph he made. 

• The spectral ajiparitlon of a Uviog persoiL 



76 l^Y 01' THE [CAPiTO V 

XXIX. 

" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here ! 

1 weeu, ray deaiUy eueiu) ; 
For if 1 slew thy brother dear, 

Thou slewest a sister's sou to me; 
And when 1 lay in dungeon dark, 

Of x'^awoith (Jastle, long mouths three, 
Till ransomed for a thousand mark. 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our hglit be tried. 

And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide. 

Till one, or both of us, did die : 
Yet, rest thee God ! for well 1 know, 
I ne'er shall tind a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here, 
Whose word is, SnaHe, spur, and spear,* 
Thou wert the best to follow gear. 
'Twas pleasure, as v.e looked behind. 
To see how tliou the chace couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, 
And with the bugle rouse the fray If 
I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again," 

XXX. 

8o mourned he, till Lord Dacre's hand 

Were bowning back to Cumberland. 

They raised brave Musgrave from the field. 

And laid him on his bloody shield; 

On levelled lances, four and four. 

By turns, the noble burden bore : 

Before, at times, upon the gale. 

Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ; 

Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 

Sung requiem for the warrior's soul : 

* The lands, that OT«r Ouse to Bfirwick forth do bear, 
Have fur iheu blazuu had, the sualie, sjnir, and siiear, 

folly-uUiio'i, Song xxsiii 
t The pursuit of Border marauders w.us folhiwed by the in- 
jured l>iirly aud his Irieuds with blood-hounds anl bugle-horn, 
and was called the hut-hod. He was entitled, il his dog coulJ 
trace the scent, to foUow the invaders into the oiiposite kiuydomj 
o privilege which often occasioned bloodshed. 



CANTO v.] I-AST MINSTBJEU 

Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trod ; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore. 
Through Liddesdale, to Leven's shore; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's wild notes, though hushed the 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near. 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 
Now seems some mountain side to sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, 
Now the sad requiem loads the gale ; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 
Rung the fall choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell. 
Why he who touched the harp so well, 
Should thus, with iU-rewarded toil, 
SVander a poor and thankless soil, 
When the more generous southern land 
Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear. 
Liked not to hear it ranked so high 
Above his flowing poesy ; 
Less liked he still that scornful jeer 
Misprized the land, he loved so dear; 
High was the sound, as thus again 
The Bard resumed His minstrel Btram. 



78 LAY OF THK fCAKTO "VL 



CANTO SIXTH. 

I. 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him hurned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign stiand ! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no Minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. 

U. 

O Caledonia ! stern and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the Hood, 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band. 

That knits me to thy i-ugged strand ! 

Still, as I view each well-known scene. 

Think what is now. and what hath been, 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left. 

And thus I love them better still. 

Even in extiemity of ill. 

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, 

'Jliough none should guide my feeble way 5 

Still .'eel the breeze down Rttricke brt'ok. 

Although it chill my withered cheek; 

Still lay my head by Teviot stoiio, 

'1 luiuirli there, forgotten and alone. 

The Bard ma^ di-aw his pai'ting groan. 



CANTO VI.] LAST JIINSTRKL. 79 

III. 

Not scorned like me ! to Branksomo Hall 
The Minstrels came, at festive call; 
Trooping they came, from near and far, 
The jovial priests of mirth and war; 
Alike for feast and fight prepared, 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan. 
They blew their death-note in the van, 
But now, for even,- merry mate, 
Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 
'I'hey sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they sing, 
Till the rude turrets shake and ring. 

IV. 

Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendour of a spousal rite. 
How mustered in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight ; 
Me lists not tell of owches rare. 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver; 
^^'hat plumage waved the altar round, 
How spurs, and ringing chainlets, sound: 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 
That lovely hue," which comes and Hies, 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 

V. 

Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, 
So much she feared each holy place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right well. 
She wrought not by forbidden spell •* 



• Popular belief, made a favourable distinction betwixt mogl- 
cSans, iiiid neoi-omaiicers or Hiz.inls ; the former were supposed lo 
(y^uiiiiand the evil spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to bt 
in league with, tho&e eneniieg of mankind. 



80 LAY OF THE LCANTO Vt. 

For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour : 
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part. 
Who tamper -with such dangerous art. 

But this for faithful tnith I say: 
The Ladye by the altar stood. 

Of sable velvet her array, 

And on her head a crimson hood, 
With pearls embroidered and entwined, 
Gruarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist, 
Held by a leash of silken twist.* 



The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'Twas now the merry hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and squire, with heedful haste, 
Marshalled the rank of ever)' guest ; 
Pages, with ready blade, were there. 
The mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 
And princely peacock's gilded train, 
And o'er the boar-head, garnished brave, 
And cyg-net from St Mary's wave ;f 
O'er ptarmigan and venison, 
The priest had spoke his benison. 
Then rose the riot and the din, 
Above, beneath, without, within ! 
For from the lofty balcony. 
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery ; 



* A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, vras usually carried by ladies f / 
rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, by a knight or baron. 

t The peacock was considered, duiing chivalrous times, a dish 
of peculiar solemnity. It was introduced on days of grand festival, 
and was the si^al for the adventurous knights to vow somo 
perilous deed " before the peacock and the ladies." The boar'G 
head was also a dish of feudal splendour. In Scotland it was 
sometimes surrounded w^ith little banners, displaying the colours 
of the baron at ■whose board it was served. St Mary's Lake, at 
the bead of the river Yarrow, is often the resort of flights of wild 

6WMJ3, 



CANTO VL] LAST MINSTREL. 81 

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffed. 
Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed ; 
Whispered young knights, in tone more mild. 
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 
The hooded hawks, high perched on beam. 
The clamour joined with whistling scream. 
And llapjjed their wings, and sliook their bells, 
In conceit with the stag-hounds' yells. 
Round go the Hasks of ruddy wine, 
From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine; 
Their tasks the Ijusy sewers ply, 
And all is mirth and revelry. 



The Goblin Page, omitting still 

No opportunity of ill, 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high. 

To rouse debate and jealousy ; 

Till Conrad, lord of Wolfenstein, 

By nature fierce, and warm with wine. 

And now in humour highly crossed. 

About some steeds his band had lost, 

High words to words succeeding still. 

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout lluuthill; 

A hot and hardy Rutherford, 

"\Miom men called Dickon Draw-the-Sword.* 

He took it on the Page's saye, 

Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 

Ilien Howard, Home, and Douglas rose. 

The kindling discord to compose: 

Stem Rutherford right little said, 

But bit his glove, and shook his head. — + 

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 

Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched in blood. 

His bosom gored with many a wound, 

AVas by a woodman's l\Tne-dog found ; 

Unknown the manner of his death. 

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 

* The Rutherfnrds of Hunthill were an ancient rare of Border 
lairds. Dickon Draw-the-Swoid was son to the old warrior, call- 
ed in tradition the Cock ot Hunthill. 

+ To bite the thumb, or the elove. seems to have been considered, 
upon the Border, as a pledge of mortal revenge. 

d2 



82 LAY OF THE LCANTO VI. 

But ever from that time, 'twas said, 
ITiat Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 



The Dwarf, who feared his master's eyo 

Might his foul treachery espie, 

Now sought the castle buttery. 

Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 

Revelled as merrily and well 

As those, that sat in lordly selle. 

Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 

The pledge to Arthur Fire- the- Braes ;* 

And he, as by his breeding bound, 

To Howard's merry-men sent it round. 

To quit them, on the English side, 

Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 

" A deep carouse to yon fair bride !'* 

At eveiy pledge, from vat and pail, 

Foamed forth, in floods, the nut-brown ale ; 

While shout the riders every one. 

Such day of mirth ne'er cheered their clan, 

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, 

When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en.'f 



The wily Page, with vengeful thought. 

Remembered him of Tinlinn's yew. 

And swore, it should be dearly bought, 

That ever he the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest, 
With bitter gibe and taunting jest; 
Told, how he fled at Solway strife, 
And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife 
Then, shunning still his powerful arm. 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 



* The person bearing this redoubtable norrame de puerrcwas an 
Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale,' He occurs in 
the list of Border riders, in 15S7. 

t The old Scottish tradition is, that the founder of the Buccleuch 
family was a Galwegian exile, who ran down and secured a buck, 
which had thrown out Kenneth Macalpine and all his nobles in 
the cliace. 



CANTO VI.] LAST MINSTREL. 

From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 

Dashed from his lips his can of beer, 

Then, to his knee sly creeping on, 

With bodlvin pierced him to the bone : 

The venomed wound, and festering joint. 

Long after rued that bodkin's point. 

The startled yeoman swore and spumed. 

And board and liaggons overturned ; 

Riot and clamour wild began ; 

Back to the hall the urchin ran ; 

Took in a darkling nook his post, 

And grinned and muttered, " Lost ! lost ! lost T' 



By this, the Dame, lest further fray 

Should mar the concord of the day. 

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 

And first stept forth old Albeit Graeme, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name : 

Was none who struck the harp so well. 

Within the land Debateable ; 

Well friended too, his hardy kin, 

Wlioever lost, were sure to win ; 

They sought the beeves, that made their broth, 

In Scotland and in England both. 

In homely guise, as nature bade, 

His simple song the Borderer said. 

XI. 

ALBERT GRAEME. 

It was an English ladye bright. 

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, 

And she would marry a Scottish knight, 
For Love will still be lord of all. 

Blithely they saw the rising sun. 

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall^ 

But they were sad ere day was done. 
Though Love was still the lord of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel flue,_ 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall ; 



83 



84 LAY OF THE [CANTO VL 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine, 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadow and lee. 
Where the sua shines fair on Carlisle wall. 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 

XII. 

That wine she had not tasted well, 

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; 
WTien dead, in her true love's arras, she fell, 

For Love was still the lord of all. 

He pierced her brother to the heart, 

^\ here the sua shines fair on Carlisle wall ; — 

So perish all, would true love part. 
That Love may still be lord of all I 

And then he took the cross divine. 

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, 

And died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love was still the lord of aU. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, 
Pray for their souls, who died for love. 

For Love shall still be lord of all ! 

XIII. 

As ended Albert's simple lay. 

Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
For sonnet, rhime, and roundelay, 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court : 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song. 

The gentle Surrey loved his l}Te — 
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ? 

His was the hero's soul of fire. 

And his the bard's immortal name. 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry.*' 

» Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, the most accomplished cavalier 
of his time, was beheaded oa Towerhill in 1^6 ; a victim to the 



c.\^To Ai.a 



LAST MINSTREL. 6i> 



XIV. 

They sought, together, climes afar, 

And ott, within some olive grove, 
When evening came, with twinkling star, 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
Ilis step the Italian peasant staid, 

And deemed, that spirits from on high, 
Round where some hermit saint was laid, 

AVere breatliing heavenly melody; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver ! O what tongue may sa 

The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, 
TSTien Surrey, of the deathless lay, 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew? 
Regardless of the tyrant's frown. 
His hai-p called wrath and vengeance down. 
He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
Windsor's gieen glades, and courtly bowers, 
And, faithful to his patron's name, 
A\'ith Howard still Fitztraver came; 
Lord AN'illiam's foremost favourite he. 
And chief of all his minstrelsy. 

XVL 

FITZTRAVER. 

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high • 
He heard the midnight-bell with anxious start. 

Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, 
When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, 

To show to him the ladye of his heart. 

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim ; 

Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 

mean jealousy of Henry ^^IT. It is said that in his travels, Cor- 
nelius Agrippa, the celebrated alchemist, showed him, in a look- 
ing-glass, the lovely Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted 
his pen and his sword. The vision represented her as indisposed, 
nnd reclined upon a couch, reading her lover's verses by the light 
of a waxen taper. 



gg LAY OF THE [C.VNTO Vi, 

That be should see her form in life and limb. 
And mai-k, if still she loved, and still she thought 
of him. 

XVII. 
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarj^e, 

To which the vsizard led the gallant knight, 
Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might, 

On cross, and character, and talisman, 
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright : 
For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
As watch-light, by the bed of some departing mroi. 

XVIII. 

But soon, within that mirror, huge and high, 

Was seen a self-emitted Hght to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy, 

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish di-eam ; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To foi-m a loidly and a lofty room. 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part v/as hid la 
gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair all the pageant. — hut how passing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair. 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose, she lay reclined. 

And, pensive, read from tablet ebmnine 
Some strain, that seemed her inmost soid to find : — 

That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line, 
That fair and lovely fomi, the Ladye Gei-aldine. 



Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form, 
And swept the goodly viision all away — 

So royal en-\j rolled the murky storm 
Cer my beloved Master's glorious day. 



CANTO n.] LAST MINSTREL. 87 

Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 
On thee, and on thy children's latest line, 

The wild caprice of thy despotic sway. 
The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine, 
Ihe murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldino 



Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 
A pplauses of Fitztraver's song : 
'lliese hated Henry's name as death, 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air. 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St Clair ; 
St Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that Lord to battle come. 
Harold was bom where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ; 
Where erst St Clairs held princely sway. 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
Still nods their palace to its fall, 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — * 
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave, 
As if grim Odinn rode her wave ; 
And ^^■atched, the whilst, vdth. visage pale 
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 



And much of wild and wonderful, 
Jji these rude isles, might Fancy cull ; 

* The St Clairs are of Norman extraction, who, settling in Scot- 
land during the reign of Meilcolin Ceanmore, obtained large grants 
of laud in Mid- Lothian.— These domains were increased by the 
liberality of succeeding mouarchs, to the descendants of tlie family, 
and comprehended the baronies of Rosline, Pentland, Cowsland, 
Cardaine, and several others. In 1379 the chief of the family was 
created Earl of Orkney in right of his mother the daughter of the 
lust Earl, by Haco King of Nor\ray, which title was recogjnised by 
the Kings of Scotland and remained with his successors until it 
was annexed to the Cro-ivn, in U71, by act of parliament. The 
castle of Kirkwall was buUt by the St Clairs, and in exchange for 
the earldom of Orkney the castle and domjiins of Bavenscraig, or 
Rayensheuch, were conferred on William Saintclair, Earl of 
Caithness. 



88 LAY OF THE [CANTO VI, 

For thither came, in times afar, 

Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 

The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood. 

Skilled to prepare the raven's food ; 

Kings of the main their leaders brave. 

Their barks the dragons of the wave.* 

And there, in many a stormy vale, 

The Scald had told his wondrous tale ; 

And many a Runic column high 

Had witnessed grim idolatry. 

And tlms had Harold, in his youth, 

Learned many a Saga's rhime uncouth. 

Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled. 

Whose monstrous circle girds the world ; 

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell 

Mcddens the battle's bloody swell ;t 

Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 

By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 

Ransacked the graves of warriors old. 

Their faulchions wrenched from corpses' hold, 

Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms, 

And bade the dead arise to arms IJ 

With war and wonder all on flame. 

To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 

Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree. 

He learned a milder minstrelsy ; 

Yet something of the Northern spell 

Mixed with the softer numbers well. 

XXIII. 
HAROLD. 

O listen, listen, ladies gay 1 

No haughty feat of arms I tell : 

* The chiefs of the T^'ikingr or Scandinavian pirates, assumed 
the title of Sfekonungr, or Sea-kiugs. Ships, in the inflated laa- 
guag<^ of the Scalds, are often termed the serpents of the ocean. 

+ ThejovTnungnndr^ or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds surround 
the earth, is one of the wildest fictions ot the old nortliern mytho- 
logy. The dread Maid? were the falkyriur, or Selectois of the 
Slain, despatched by Odin from Valhala, to choose those who wore 
to die, and to distribute the contest. They are well known to the 
English reader, as Gray's Katal Sisters. 

J The northern warriors were usually entombed with their 
arms, and their other treasures. The ghosts of tliese warriora 
were unt wont tamely to suffer their tombs to be plundered ; aild 
hence the mortal heroes had an additioual temotation to attempt 



CANTO VI.] LAST MINSTREL. 

Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle,* 

— '■' Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,'}' 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with white ; 

To inch J and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the "Water Si^rite, 

Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigb. 

•' Last night the gifted seer did view 
A wet -shroud swathed round ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : 
"Why cross the gloomy firth to-day !" 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball, 

But that my Ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
Ajnd Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide, 
If 'tis not filled by RosabeUe." 



O'er Roslin all that dreary night 

A wonderous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire light. 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 

It ruddied all the copse- wood glen ; 
'Twas seen from Dr}'den's groves of oak, 

And seen from caverned HaAvlhorndea 

such adventures ; for they held nothing more worthy of thcit 
valour than to encounter supernatural beings. 

« Thi3 was a family name in the house oT St Clair. Henry St 
Clair, the second of the line, married Bosabelle, fourth daughter 
of the Earl of Stratherne. 

t A large and strong castle, now ruinous, situated betwixt 
Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep cr.-ig, washed by the Fii-th of 
forth. 

X Jnch, Jtte. 



90 LAY OF THB [CANTO VI, 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 

Where Roslin's chiefs uncofliiied lie; 
Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 

Sheathed in his iron panoply.* 

Seemed all on fire within, around, 

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
Shore evei) pillar foliage-bound, 
. And glimmered all the dead men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — ■ 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high St Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 

And each St Clair was buried there. 

With candle, with book, and with knell; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds STiDgj 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXV. 

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, 

Scai'ce marked the guests the darkened hall, 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wonderous shade involved them all : 
It was not eddying mist or fog. 
Drained by the sun from fen or bog ; 

Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face. 

Could scarce his own stretched hand, behold. 
A secret horror checked the least, 
And chilled the soul of every guest ; 

* The beautiful chapel of Boslin is stiU in toleraoie preservatio!!. 
It was founded in 1446 by 'X^'Ulian) St Clair, Pimce of Oikney, 
Ac, fee, who built the castle ol Rosliii, wlieie he resided in 
princely splemlour. The cliapel in said to appear on fire previous 
t«> the death of any of his descendants. The Barons of Koslin were 
buried in aimout ii\ a vault beneath the chapel floor. 



CANTO VL] 



LAST MINSTREL. 91 



Even the high Dame stood half aghast, 

She knew some evil on the blast ; 

The elvish Page lell to the ground. 

And, shuddering, muttered, " Found 1 found ! found !" 



Then sudden through the darkened air 

A flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so blight, so red the glare, 

The castle seemed on ilame ; 
Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
Each tropliied beam, each sculptured stone. 
Were instant seen, and instant gone -, 
Full through the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless Hashed the levin-brand, 
And tilled the hall with smouldering smoke, 
As on the elvish Page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud. 

Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud, 
From sea to sea the larum rung ; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal. 
To arms the startled warders sprimg. 
When ended was the dreadful roar. 
The elvish Dw-arf was seen no more ! 



Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some, 
Crj', with loud summons, " Gylbin, come !" 

AJad on the spot where burst the brand, 
Just where the Page had flung him do^svn, 

Some saw an arm, and some a hand, 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence prayed and shook, 
And terror dimmed each lofty look : 
But none of all the astonished train 
Was so dismayed as Deloraiue ; 
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 
'Twas feared his mind would ne'er return ; 



02 LAY OF THE CCANTO VL 

For he was speechless, ghastly, "wan, 
Like him, of whom the story ran, 
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.* 
At length, by hts, he darkly told. 
With broken hint, and shuddering cold — 
That he had seen, right certainly, 
A shape icitli amice wrapped around^ 
With a wrought Spa?iish baldric bounds 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea ; 
And knew — but how it mattered not— 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 



The anxious crowd, with horror pale, 
All trembling, heard the wonderous tale ; 

No sound was made, no word was spoke, 

Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 

Did to St Bryde of Douglas make,*}* 

That he a pilgrimage would take 

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast, 
To some blessed saint his prayers addressed— 
Some to St jNIodan made their vows. 
Some to St Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our Lad}' of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make. 
That he such pilgrimage would take. 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayed, 
'Tis said the noble Dame, dismayed. 
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



» Called in the Manx language the Mauthe Doog. 'Ihe story is, 
that a fool-hardy person who would question this phar torn, recti\ ed 
suoli a shock from the interview, that he remained speechless till 
his death, which happened only three days after. 

^ This was a tavourite saint of the house of Dougla-s anO of fin 
Earl of Angus, in particular. 



CA^rrO VI.] LAST MINSTREL. 93 

XXIX. 

Nought of the bridal will I tell, 
Which after in shoi-t space befell ; 
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
Bleised Teviot's Flower and Cranstoune's heir; 
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain 
To wake the note of mirth again ; 
More meet it were to mark the day 

Of penitence and prayer divine, 
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array. 

Sought Melrose holy shrine. 

XXX. 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear uneath. 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, 

Through all the lengthened row : 
No lordly look, no martial stride, ^ 

Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side. 

And there they kneeled them do"wn; 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the lettered stones were laid 
Tlie ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnished niche around, 
Stern saints, and tortured martjTS, frowned. 

XXXI. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular. 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
Tlie holy Fathers, two and two, 

In long procession came ; 
Taper, and host, and book they bare, 
A.nd holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Kedeemer's name : 



94 LiiT OP THE [CANTO VI. 

Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred Abbot stretched bis hand, 

And blessed them as they kneeled ; 
With holy cross he signed them all. 
And prayed they might be sage in hall, 

And fortunate in held. 
Then mass was simg, and prayers were said, 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells tolled out their mighty peaL, 
For the departed spirit's weal; 
And ever in the office close 
The h}Tnn of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The a^vf'il burthen of the song, — 
Dies irje, dies illa, 
solvet s^clum in favilla; 
While the pealing organ rung ; 

Were it meet -with sacred strain 

To close my lay, so light and vain. 
Thus the holy Fathers sung. 

HYMK FOR THE DEAD. 

That day of -wTatb., that dreadful day, 
WTien heaven and earth shall pass away, 
What power shall be the sinner's stay ? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll. 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
"VSTien louder yet, and yet more dread. 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ; 
O ! on that day, that wrathful day, 
\\Tien man to judgment vvakes from clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay. 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away I 

Hushed is the harp — ^the Minstrel gone. 

And did he wander forth alone ? 

Alone, in indigence and age, 

To linger out his pilgrimage ? 

No — close beneath proud Newark's tower. 

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 



CAJJTO VI.3 LAST MINSTREL, 

A simple hut ; but tliere was seen 
The little garden hedged "with green, 
The che«iful hearth, and lattice clean. 
There sheltered wanderers, by the hlazOj 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door. 
And give the aid he begged before. 
So passed the winter's day ; but still. 
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, 
And July's eve, ^^•ith balmly breath, 
Waved the blue-bells on Newark-heath ; 
When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw. 
And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak, 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Tlien would he sing achievements high. 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer; 
And Yarrov/, as he rolled along. 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 



93 



M A R M I O N, 



TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD 

LN SIX CANTOS. 



ALAS ! THAT SCOTTISH MAID SHOULD SING 
THE COMBAT WHERE HER LOVER FELL ! 

THAT SCOTTISH BARD SHOULD WAKE THE STRINO, 
THE TEIUMPH OF OUR FOES TO TELL !— LETDKN. 



THE RIGHT HONOUEABLE 

HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE 

^c. SfC. ^c. 

THIS ROMA>-CE IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



It is hardly to be expected, that an Author whom the 
Public has honoured with some degree of applause 
should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. 
Yet the Author of Marmion must be supposed to feel 
some anxiety concerning its success, since he is 
sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, 
any reputation which his first Poern may have pro- 
cured him. The present Story turns upon the private 
adventures of a fictitious character ; but is called a 
Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero's fate is con- 
nected with that memorable defeat, and the causes 
which led to it. The design of the Author was, if 
possible, to apprise his readers, at the outset, of the 
date of his Story, and to prepare them for the man- 
ners of the Age in which it is laid. Any historical 
narrative, far more an attempt at Epic composition, 
exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be 
permitted to hope, from the popularity of The Lay 
OF THE Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint 
the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader 
scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, 
will not be unacceptable to the Public. 

The Poem opens about the commencement of 
August, and concludes with the defeat of Floddeii, 
4th September, 1513 



M A R M I O K 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 

To William Stewart Rose, Esq. 

As/iestielt Ettricie Foreti 

November's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing do\vn the steepy linn. 
That hems our little garden in, 
Low in its dark and narrow glen. 
You scarce the rivulet might ken. 
So thick the tangled green- wood grew. 
So feeble trilled the streamlet through: 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green. 
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
No more, beneath the evening beam. 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ; 
Away hath passed the heather-bell, 
That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yare, 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven, 
To sheltered dale and down are driven, 
Where yet some faded herbage pines, 
And yet a watery sun-beam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The withered sward and wintry sky. 



IpO MAKMION. [CANTO I, 

And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenkiunon's rill : 
The shepherd shil'ts his mantle's fold, 
And wTaps him closer from the cold ; 
His dogs no ixieriy clrdes v/heel, 
But, shivering, follow at his heel; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and \vild. 
As best befits the mountain child, 
Feel the sad influence of the hour, 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower; 
Their simimer gambols tell, and mourn. 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return. 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
Tlie lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you frolic light as they, 
Too short shall seem the svmamer day, 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings; 
The genial call dead Nature hears. 
And in her glory re-appears. 
But O ! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate? 
\\Tiat powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike, and the wise ; 
The mind, that thought for Britain's wool, 
The hand, that grasped the victor steel? 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly, may he shine. 
Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine; 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom. 
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! 



CANTO I.] MARMION, 101 

Deep graved in ever)- British lieart, 
O never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons,^— Lo, here his grave, 
Who victor died on Gddite wave; 
To him, as to the burning levin, 
Short, bright, resistless course was given ; 
Where'er his countr}''s foes were found, 
Was lieard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, 
Who bade the conquerer go forth, 
And launched that thunderbolt of war 
On Eg)-pt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar ; 
Who, born to guide such high emprize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sins, an early grave ; 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, 
AjmI served his Albion for herself; 
Wbo, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's bursting rein. 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
The pride, he would not crush, restrained. 
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, [laws. 

And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's 

Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, 
When fraud or danger were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beacon-light. 
Our pilots had kept course aright ; 
As some proud column, though alone. 
Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne. 
Now is the stately column broke. 
The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is stil) 
The warder silent on the hill ! 

• Copeuhagea. 



102 MARMION. [CANTO 1. 

Oh, think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, 
With Paliuure's unaltered mood. 
Firm at his dangerous post he. stood 
Each call for needful rest repelled, 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, 
The steerage of tlie realm gave way ! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand plaina, 
One unpolluted church remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound, ) 
But still, upon the hallowed day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
AVhile faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, PiTT, lies here ! 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his Rival slumbers nigh; 
Nor be thy requief<-at dumb. 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
For talents mourn, untimely lost. 
When best employed, and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound; 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below ; 
And, if thou mourn' st they could not savo 
From error him who ov.'ns this grave, 
Be every harsher thought suppressed, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
//ere, where the end of eartlily things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
W^here stiff the hand, and still the tongue, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung •, 
//ere, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song. 
As if some angel spoke agen, 
All peace on earth, good-^vill to men ^ 
If ever from an English heart, 
O liere let prejudice depart, 



CANTO L] MARMION. 

And. partial feeling cast aside, 
Record, that Fox a Briton died ! 
When Europe crouched to Fiance's yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
Was bartered by a timorous slave. 
Even then dishonour's peace he spumed, 
The sullied olive-branch returned, 
Stood for his country's glory fast. 
And nailed her colours to the mast. 
Heaven, to reward his finnness, gave, 
A portion in tliis honoured grave ; 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 

With more than mortal powers endowed, 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
Shofik realms and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each banner proud to stand. 
Looked up the noblest of the land, 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave. 
Though his could drain the ocean dry, - 
And force the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with these. 
The wine of life is on the lees. 
Genius, and taste, and talent gone. 
For ever tombed beneath the stone, 
Where, — taming thought to human pride ! — - 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'Twill trickle to liis rival's bier; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful recjuiem sound, 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
" Here let their discord with them die ; 
"Speak not for those a separate doom, 
•^ \vTiom Fate made brothers in the tomb, 



103 



104 MARMION. CC^NTO I 

** But search the land of living men, 

" Where wilt thou find their like agen ?" 

Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 
Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 
Not "even your Britain's groans can pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse : 
Then, O how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from northern clime, 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 
The bard you deigned to praise, your deathless names 
has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I part, 
Ere lialf unloaded is my heart ! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And all the raptures fancy knew. 
And all the keener rush of blood, 
That throbs through bard in bard-like mood. 
Were here a tribute mean and low. 
Though all their mingled streams could flow — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high, -^ 

In one spring-tide of ecstasy — 
It will not be — it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment's past : 
Like frost-work in the morning ray. 
The fancied %bric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle are gone, 
And, lingering last, deception dear, 
The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down, 
The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
The farm begirt with copse-wood wild, 
The gambols of each frolic child. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 



CAjVTO 1,1 BIARMION. 105 

Mceter, she says, for me to stray. 

And waste the solitary day, 

In plucking from yon fen the reed, 

And watching it Ho at do-sNTi the Tweed; 

Or idly list the shrilling lay 

With which the milk-maid cheers her way, 

Marking its cadence rise and fail. 

As from the liehl, beneath her pail, 

She trips it down the uneven dale : 

Meeter for me, by yonder cairn. 

The ancient shepherd's tale to leam. 

Though oft he stop in rustic fear. 

Lest his old legends tire the ear 

Of one, who, in his simple mind, 

May boast of book-learned taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
(.For few have read romance so well) 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds, 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
As when the Champion of the Lake 
Enters Morgana's fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and demons' force. 
Holds converse with the unburied corse ; 
Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move, 
(Alas ! that lawless was their love) 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den, 
And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man, and uncoufessed, 
lie took the Sangreal's holy quest, 
And, slumbering, saw the vision high. 
He might not view with waking eye.* 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong : 

* These allusions refer to the adrentiires of SirLaimcelot af ihj 
r.Bke 80 agreeably told in the old romance of the Morte Artbar. 
E 2 



106 MARMION. [cAirro 1 

They gleam tlirough Spenser's elfin dream. 

And mix in Milton s heavenly theme ; 

And Diyden, in immortal strain, 

Had raised the Table Round again,* 

But that a ribald king and court 

Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; 

Demanded for their niggard pay. 

Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 

Licentious satire, song, and play ; 

The world defrauded of the high design, [lofty line. 

Profaned the God-given strength, and maxred the 

Warmed by such names, well may we then, 
Though dwindled sons of little men, 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
Where long through talisman and spell, 
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept. 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth. 
On venturous quest to prick again, 
In all his arms, vnih all his train, 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scar^ 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might, 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells, 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells , 
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
And Honour, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 



» Dryden had projected an epic poem, the subject of wluch was 
to have been the exploits of king Arthur ; and had he been ena- 
bled to accomplish such a work, it would have been undoubtedly 
a glorious monument of English genius, as vrell as record of Ei»- 
ellsh heroism. But the ingratitude of Charles II., and his cour- 
tiers, by whom he was abcmdoned to poverty and neglect, obliged 
him to labour for his present wanta. and the scheme was union 
tunately abandoned. 







^ 



1^37 set on Iso rp'h R iTi 'p castled, steep. 
Jud Iweeds fail livei.iirQad. and deep, 
And Quervxots moTomairLs lone. 



107 



CAIVTO L] MARMION. 

And Valour, lion-mettled lord, 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

AVell has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,-}" 
And that Red King, J who, while of old 
Through Boldrewood the chase he led. 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how He of Graul, 
That Amadis so famed in hall, 
For Oriana, foiled in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might; 
And well in modem verse hast wove 
Partenopex's mystic love : 
Hear then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 



CANTO FIRST. 

€fit Castle. 

I. 
Day set on Norham's castled steep. 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,§ 

And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
The battled towers, the Donjon Keep,]] 
The loop-hole grates where captives weep, 
The flanking walls that round it sweep. 

In yellow lustre shone. 

* The new forest in Hampshire, anciently so called. 

+ Ascapart was a huge giant, and Bevis of Southampton a gal- 
lant knight, who both n^re in the early English romances. 

t A\'illiam Rufus. 

§ The ruinous castle of Norham, is situated on the southern bank 
of tht; Tweed, about six miles above Berwick. The extent of its 
ruins, ;is well as its historical importance, shows it to have been a 
place of magnificence, as well as strength. 

II The donjon, was the strongest part of a feudal castle: a high 
square tower, with \valls of tremendous thickness, situated in tlia 
centre of the other buildings, from which, however, it was usually 



108 MARMION. [CANTO] 

The -warriors on the turrets hiffh. 
Moving athwart the evening slcy, 

Seemed forms of giant height : 
Their armour, as it caught the rays, 
Flashed back again the western blaze. 

In lines of dazzling light. 
II. 
St George's banner, broad and gay, 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung; 
The evening gale had scarce the poArei 
To wave it on the Donjon tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search, 

The castle gates were barr'd ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

The warder kept his guard, 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 



A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump* of spears, 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud. 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle-horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And warned the Captain in the hall. 

For well the blast he knew : 

detached, ft contained the great hall, and principal rooma of state 
for solemn occasions, i»iiil also the pri^^on of the fortress ; from which 
last circumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of lie 
word dungeoJi. 

* This word properly applies to a flight of waterfowl, but i3 ap- 
plied, by analogy, to a body of horse. 

Thcre'is a Kniglitof the North Country, 
WTiich leads a lusty plump of spears, 

y/oc/dr/l Fidd, 



CANTO I.] MARMION. 109 

And joyfully that Knight did calL, 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 



" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe. 
And quickly make the entrance free, 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee, 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot : 

Lord Marmion waits below." — 
Then to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The jjon-studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard. 
The lofty palisade unsparred, 

And let the draw-bridge faU. 



Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, 

Proudly his red-roan charger trod. 

His helm hung at the saddle-bow ; 

Well, by his visage, you might know 

He was a stalworth knight, and keen. 

And had in many a battle been ; 

The scar on his brown clieek revealed 

A token true of Bosworth field ; 

His eye-brow dark, and eye of fire. 

Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 

Yet lines of thought upon his cheek, 

Did deep design and counsel speak. 

His forehead, by his casque worn bare. 
His thick moustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turned joints, and strength of limb. 
Showed him no carpet knight so tnm, 
But, in close fight, a champion grim, 
In camps, a leader sage. 



110 MABJUON. CCANTO I 



Well was he armed from head to heel. 

In mail, and plate, of Milan steel ;* 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all with bumish'd gold emboss'd ; 

Amid the plumage of the crest, 

A falcon hovered on her nest, 

With wings outspread, and forward breast ; 

E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 

Soared sable in an azure field : 

The golden legend bore aright, 

" Who checks at me, to death ts dight/ 

Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 

The knightly housing's ample fold 

Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. 



Behind him rode two gallant squires, 
Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
They burned the gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair, 

VIII. 

Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 

With halbard, bill, and battle-axe: 

They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 

And led his sumpter mules along, 

And ambling palfrey, when at need 

Him listed ease his battle-steeer. 

The last, and trustiest of the four, 

On high his forky pennon bore; 

Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 

Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue, 

* The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for theit 
ekUl in armour. 



CAiVrO L] MABMION. Ill 

Where, blazoned sable, as before, 
The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, tAvo and two, 
In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 
With falcons broider'd on each breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
Each, chosen for an archer good. 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong^ 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys, and array, 
Showed they had marched a weaiy "way, 

IX. 

•Tis meet that I should tell you now^ 
How fairly armed, and ordered how, 

The soldiers of the guard. 
With musquet, pike, and morion, 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the castle-yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 
The gunner held his linstock yare. 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and such a clang, 
As then through all his turrets rang. 

Old Norham never heard. 



The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 

The trumpets flourished brave, 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced, 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blj-the salute, in martial sort, 

The minstrels well might sound. 
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, 

He scattered angels round. 
'* Welcome to Norham, ^Marmion ! 

Stout heart, and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 

Thou flower of English land .^'— 



112 MARIUON. LCAKTO I 

XI. 

Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of s-tone, 
By which you reach the Donjon gate, 
And there, with herald pomp and state, 

They hailed Lord Marmion : 
They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamwoith tower and to\vn ;* 
And he, their courtesy to requite. 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight. 

All as he lighted do\vn. 
"Now largesse, largesse, Lord Mannion,i' 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazon'd shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guaided heart so bold." — 

XII. 

They marshalfd him to the castle-hall, 

Where the guests stood all aside, 
And loudly nourished the trumpet-call. 

And the heralds loudly cried, 
— "■ Room, lordlings, room for Lord I\[aimion) 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know the trophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de ^Vilton strove 

'Gainst Alarmion's force to stand; 
To him he lost his ladye-love. 

And to the king his land. 

* In earlier times, the family of Marmion, lords of Fon'enay, in 
Ivormaudy, was lii^hly distinaruished. Robert de Mannion, LcrJ 
of Foiitenay, a distmguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained 
a grant of the castle and town of Taniworth, and also of the manor 
of Scrivelby, in Laincolnshire, by the honourable service of being 
the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion had formerly 
been to the Dukes of Normandy. The family became extinct, and 
the office of royal champion was adjudged to Sir John Uynioke, 
to whom the manor of Scrivelby had descended by one of the co- 
heiresses of Robert de M irniion. 

+ This was the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were 
wont to ackuowled<^e the bounty received from the knights. The 
heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to have great 
claims upon the liberality of the knights, of whose feats they kept 
a reconl, and proclaimed taeni alou^ as in the text, upon snuuble 
occasions. 



ON. 113 



C.\NTO L] 

Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair ; 
We saw Lord Marmioa pierce hb shield. 

And saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest. 

He wears with worthy pride ; 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

His foemau's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
For him who conquered in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye !" — 



Then stepped to meet that noble lord. 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
Baron of TwiselL, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold. 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 

Raised o'er the pavement high, 
And placed him in the upper place — 

They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

*■' How the fierce Thiriuulls, and Ridleys aU^ 
Stout milimo7idstt}ick^ 
Aiid Hard-riding Dick, 

And Hughie of Hawdon, a7id Will o' ihe Wall 
Have set oji Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 
And taJcen his life at tlie Deadmans-sliaw" 

Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook 
The harper's barbarous lay ; 

Yet much he praised the pains he took. 
And well those pains did pay : 
For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain, 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 

XIV. 

*' Now, good Lord Marmion,*' Heron saya, 

" Of your fair courtesy, 
I piay you bide some little space, 

In this poor tower with mo. 



114 MARMION. [cAMo 

Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

May breathe your war-horse well ; 
Seldom hath passM a week, but giust 

Or feat of anus befell : 
The Scots can lein a mettled steed, 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
St George ! a stirring life they lead 

That have such neighbours near. 
Then stay with us a little space, 

Our northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace." 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 



The Captain mark'd his altered look. 

And gave a squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassel bowl he took, 

And crownM it high with wine. 
" Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : 

But first I pray thee fair, 
Where hast thou left that Page of thinCj 
That used to serve thy cup of wine, 

Whose beauty was so rare? 
When last in Raby towers we met, 

The boy I closely eyed, 
And often marked his cheeks were wet, 

With tears he fain would hide : 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
To burnish shield, or sharpen brand. 

Or saddle battle- steed ; 
But meeter seemed for lady fair, 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 

His bosom — when he sigh'd. 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! , 

Say, hast t'aou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower ? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour.^' — 



cmro L] 



Lord Mamiion ill could brook such jest; 

He rolled his kindling eye, 
VVith pain his rising wrath suppressed. 

Yet made a calm reply : 
" That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair. 

He might not brook the northern air. 
More of his fate if thou would' st learn, 

I left hira sick in Lindisfarn : 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say, 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage ?" — 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 



Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt^ 

Careless the Knight replied, 
"No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt. 

Delights in cage to bide : 
Norham is grim, and grated close, 
Hemmed in by battlement and fosso, 

And many a darksome tower ; 
And better loves my lady bright, 
To sit in liberty and light. 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in our hand. 

Our falcon on our glove ; 
But where shall we hnd leash or band. 

For dame that loves to rove? 
Let the wild falcou soar her swing, 
She'll stoop when she has tired her •wing.*' 

XVIII. 

" Nay, if with Royal James's brido 
The lovely Lady Heron bide, 
Beliold me here a messenger. 
Your tender greetings prompt to beai; 
For, to the Scottish court addressed, 
1 journev at our king's behest. 



115 



116 MARMION. [CANTO 11, 

And pray you, of your grace, provide 
¥oT me, and mine, a trusty gxiide. 
I have not ridden in Scotland since 
James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march vfith Surrey's power, 
What time we razed old Ayton tower."* — 

XIX. 

" For such like need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow ;'!' 
For here be some have pricked as far 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 
Have drunk the monks of St Bothan's ale, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale •, 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And given them light to set their hoods." — * 



" Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried, 

" Were I in warlike- wise to ride, 

A better guard I would not lack, 

Than your stout forayers at my back : 

But, as in form of peace I go, 

A friendly messenger, to know, 

Why through all Scotland, near and far, 

Their king is mustering troops for war, 

The sight of plundering Border spears 

Might justify suspicious fears. 

And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, 

Break out in some unseemly broil : 

A herald were my fitting guide ; 

Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 

* In 1496, Perkin Warbeck was received honourably in Scot^ 
land; and James IV., after conferring upon him in mai-riage his 
own relation, the Lady Catharine Gordon, made war on England 
in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion ot England, 
Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the head of considerabie 
forces, but retreated after taking the inconsiderable fortress O) 
Ayton. 

t The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and 
Berwick, were very troublesome neighbours f; Scotland. 

J This is a phrase, by which the Borderers joc.Uarly intimated 
the burning .if a house. 



CANTO L] MARMION. 

Or pardoner, or travelliuo: priest. 
Or strolling pilgi-im, at the least." — 

XXI. 

riie Captain mused a little space, 

And passed his hand across his face. 

— "• Fain would I find the guide you wanT;, 

But ill may spare a pursuivant, 

The only men that safe can ride 

Mine errands on the Scottish side. 

Then, though a hisliop huilt this fort, 

Few holy brethren here resort ; 

Even our good chaplain, as I ween, 

Since our last siege, we have not seen : 

The mass he might not sing or say. 

Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 

So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 

And prayed for our success the while. 

Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 

Is all too well in case to ride. 

The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 

The wildest war-horse in your train ; 

But then, no spearman in the hall 

Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawL 

Friar John of Tillmouth were the man; 

A blithesome brother at tlie can, 

A welcome o-viest in hall and bower. 

He knows '^^ch castle, towTi, and tower. 

In which tl't wine and ale is good, 

'Twixt ^Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 

But that good man, as ill befalls. 

Hath seldom left our castle walls, 

Since on the vigil of St Bede, 

In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 

To teach Dame Alison her creed. 

Old Bughtrig found him \\-ith hi3"wifo; 

And John, an enemy to strife. 

Sans frock and hood, Hed for his life. 

The jealous churl hath deeply swore. 

That, if again he ventures o'er. 

He shall shrieve penitent no more. 

Little he loves such ris(iue3, I know; 

Yet, in your guard, perchance will go.*' 



117 



1 18 MARMIOW. [CANTO L 

XXII. 

Young Selby, at tho fair hall-board. 
Carved to his uncle, and that lord, 
And reverently took up the word. 
" Kind uncle, Avoe -were ■sve each one, 
If harm should hap to Brother John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech, 
Can many a game and gambol teach ; 
Full well at tables can he play. 
And sweep at bowls the stake away, 
None can a lustier carol bawd, 
The needfullest among us all, 
"When time hangs hea\y in the hall, 
And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
A foray on the Scottish side. 
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude, 
May end in worse than loss of hood. 
Let Friar John, in safety, still 
In chimney-comer snore his fill. 
Roast hissing crab?, or iiaggons swill : 
Last night, to Norham there came one. 
Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 
" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. 
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say." 

XXIII. 
" Here is a holy Palmer* come. 
From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 
One, that hath kissed the blessed tomb. 
And visited each holy shrine, 
In Araby and Palestine 
Ou hills of Armenie hath been, 
A\'here Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 
Which pai-ted at the prophet's rod ; 
In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 

* A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one wlio made it his ucJe 
Duslness to visit different holy shrines: travelling incessantly, tiud 
kubsisting by charity: whereas tlie Pilgrim retireil to his isoal 
borne and ocenpatious, when he had paid his devotions at the par- 
ticular spot which was the object of his pUgriinage. 



ai^MTO 10 MAKMION. ^9 

Mid thunder-dint, and ilashing ]evin,_ 
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
He shows Saint James's cocide-shell, 
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and ere, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 
Saint Rosalie retii-ed to God.* 



" To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterburj', 
Cuthbeit of Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; 
Little he eats, and long will wake, 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But, when our John hath quaffed his ale, 
As little as the wind that blows, 
And warms itself against his nose, 
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — 

XXV. 

" Gramercy !" quoth Lord Marmion, 
" Full loth were I, that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me, 
Were placed in fear, or jeopardy. 

If this same Palmer will me lead 
From hence to Holy- Rood, 

Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed. 

Instead of cockle-shell, or bead, 
With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
'J'hey know to chami a weary hill, 

With song, romance, or lay : 

* " Sante Rosalia was of Palermo, and born of a very noWe 
feinily, and abhorred so much the vanities of this world, that she 
forsook her father's house, and never was more heard of, till her 
body was found in that cieft oi a rock, on that almoat inaccessible 
niuontaiit, where now her chapel is built." 



120 MARJIION. 

Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
Some lying legend at the least, 
They bring to cheer the way.**- 



" Ah ! noble sir," young Selby said, 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

" This man knows much, perchance e'en moie 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

Still to himself he's muttering. 

And shidnks as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we listened at his cell ; 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 

He murmured on till morn, howe'er 

No living mortal could be near. 

Sometimes I thought I heard it plain. 

As other voices spoke again. 

I cannot tell — I like it not — ■ 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 

No conscience clear, and void of WTong, 

Can rest awake, and pray so long. 

Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have marked ten aves, and two creeds." — • 



" Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " by ray fay, 
This man shall guide me on my way. 
Although the great arch-tiend and he 
Had sworn themselves of company; 
So please you, gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer to the castle-hall." — 
The summoned Palmer came in place : 
His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 

In his black mantle was he clad, 

With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 
On his broad shoulders wrought ; 

The scallop shell his cap did deck; 

The crucifix around his neck 
Was from Loretto brought; 
His sandals were Avith travel tore, 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand. 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 



CAKTO I.] 



MAHMTON. 121 



Whenas the Palmer came in hail, 

Nor lord, nor knight, Avas there more tall; 

Or had a statelier step withal. 

Or looked more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait, 
But strode across the hall of state. 
And fronted JVIarmion where he sate, 

As he his peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
And when he struggled at a smile, 

His eye looked haggard wild. 
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face, and sun-burned hair, 

She had not knoA\ni her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe, 
Soon change the form that best we know — 
For deadly fear can time outgo, 

And blanch at once the hair ; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face. 
And want can quench the eye's bright grace, 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall, 
But this poor Palmer knew them all. 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task. 
So be would march with morning tide, 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
— " But I have solemn vows to pay. 
And may not linger by the way. 

To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray,* 

* St Regius, (ScollicS, St Rule) a monk of PatraE; in Achaia, 
warued by a vision, is g£ud, a.d. 370, to liave sailed westward, until 
he landed at St Andrew's, in Scotland, where he fouaded a chapeJ 
and tower. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the 
Archbishojvs of Bt Andrew's, bears the name of this religious 
person. 

V 



122 MARMIOxV. [CANTO I- 

Where good Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Sung to the billows' sound ; 
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 

And the crazed brain restore : — * 
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring, 

Or bid it throb no more !" — 

XXX, 

And now the midnight di-aught of sleep, 
Where wine and spices richly steep. 
In massive bowl of silver deep. 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 
The cup went through among the rest, 

AVho drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by. 
Though Selby pressed him courteously. 

This was the sign the feast was o'er ; 

It hushed the merry wassel roar, 
The minstrels ceased to sound. 

Soon in the castle nought was heard. 

But the slow footstep of the guard, 
Pacing his sober round. 



With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 

And first the chapel doors unclose ; 

Then, after morning rites were done, 

(A hasty mass from Friar John,) 

And knight and squire had broke their fhsfi, 

On rich substantial repast, 

Lord MaiToions bugles blew to horse. 

Then came the stiiTup-cup in course ; 

Between the Baron and his host, 

No point of courtesy was lost : 

*» 6t FUlau was a Scottish saint of some repritation. Tliero are, 
In Perthshire, several wells and springs dedicated to St FillajJ, 
\rhich are stiU places of pilgrimage and offerings, even aaiong tho 
Protestants- 



CANTO U.] MARillOX 

High thanks were by Lord i\Iannion paid< 
Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
Till, filing from the gate, had past 
That noble train, their Lord the last. 

Then loudly rung the tmmpet-call ; 

Thundered the cannon from the wall. 
And shook the Scottish shore ; 

Around the castle eddied, slow, 

Volumes of smoke as white as snow. 
And hid its turrets hoar ; 
Till they rolled forth upon the air. 
And met the river breezes there. 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



123 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 
To the Rev. John Harriot, M.A, 

Ashestid, Eitricke Forest. 

The scenes are desart now and bare, 

"vMiere flourished once a forest fair,* 

When these waste glens with copse were lined. 

And peopled with the hart and hind. 

Yon thom — perchance whose prickly spears 

Have fenced him for three hundi-ed years. 

While fell around his green compeers — 

Yon lonely thom, would he could tell 

The changes of his parent dell, 

Since he, so grey and stubborn now. 

Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 

Would he could teU how deep the shade, 

A thousand mingled branches made ; 

How broad the shadows of the oak, 

How clung the rowan'f' to the rock. 

And through the foliage showed his head. 

With narrow leaves, and berries red ; 

« Ettricke Forest, now a range of mountainous sheep walks, 
waa anciently reserved for the pleasure of the royal chase. When 
the kin^ hunted there, he often summoned the array of the coun- 
try to meet and assist his sport. These huntings had, of course, a 
tnilStarv character, and attendance npon them was a part of the 
duty Ota yn^saU 

t Mountain-ash. 



124 MARMION, [CA^TO 11 

What pines on every mountain spnmg, 
O'er every dell what birches hung, 
In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, 
" The mighty stag at noontide lay : 
The woU' Tve seen, a hercer game, 
(The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) 
With lurching step around me prowl, 
And fctop against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 
While doe and roe, and red-deer good. 
Have bounded by through gay gieen-wood. 
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower. 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals nmstered round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; 
And I might see the youth intent. 
Guard every pass with cross-bow bent ; 
And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in gi-een-wood trim, 
Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim. 
Attentive, as the bratchet's* bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain. 
As fast the gallant grey-hounds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
A-nsw^ers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry. 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." — 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales. 
Up pathless Ettricke, and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the Outlaw drew his arrow. -f 

* S'.ow-houiid, 
t The tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark 
and Ettricke Forest against the king, may be foimd in the " or- 



CANTO ItJ MARMION. 125 

But not more blythe that sylvan court. 

Than we have been at humbler sport ; 

Though small our pomp, and mean our game, 

Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same. 

Remember'st thou my grey-hounds true? 

O'er holt, or hill, there never Hew, 

From slip, or leash, there never sprang, 

More lleet of foot, or sure of fang. 

Nor dull, between each merry chase. 

Passed by the intermitted space ; 

For we had fair resource m store, 

In Classic, and in Gothic lore : 

We marked each memorable scene. 

And held poetic talk between ; 

Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 

But had its legend, or its song. 

All silent now — for now are still 

Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 

No longer, from thy mountains dun. 

The yeoman hears the well-known gun. 

And, while his honest heart glows warm. 

At thought of his paternal farm. 

Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 

And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills T 

No fairy fomis, in Yarrow's bowers, 

Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 

Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, 

By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh; 

No youthful barons left to grace, 

I'he Forest- SheriiFs lonely chase. 

And ape, in manly step and tone, 

The majesty of Oberon : 

And she is gone, whose lovely face 

Is but her least and lowest grace ; 

Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given, , 

To show our earth the charms of heaven, ■ 

She could not glide along the air, 

With form more light, or face more fair. 

No more the widow's deafened ear 

Grows quick, that lady's step to hear : 

der Afinstre'sy." In the Macfarlane MS., among other causes of 
James the Fifth's charter to the burgh, is mentioned, that the 
oitizena assisted him to suppress this dan^'erous outlaw. 



126 MARMION. r<~; A^TTO n 

At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Penbive she turns her humming wheel. 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
The gentle hand by which they're fed. 

From Yair, — which hills so closely bind. 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage tind, 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil, 
Till all his eddying currents boil, 
Her long-descended lord is gone. 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys, 
Companions of my mountain joys, 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side, with what delight, 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight, 
When, pointing to his airy mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground !* 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And 1 have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite the diii'erence of our years. 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot long endure ; 
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide. 
You may not linger by the side ; 
For Fate shall thnist you from the shore. 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still, 
Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
When fiercer transport shall be dumb. 
And you will think right frequently. 
But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
On the free hours that v.'e have spent, 
Together, on the brown hill's bent. 

When, musing on companions gone, 
We doubly feel ourselves ajoue, 

* There is, on a high raoiintaiiious ridge above the farm 
Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Treucii- 



CANTO IL] MARMION. 127 

Something, my friend, we yet may gain. 

There is a pleasure in this pain : 

It soothes the love of lonely rest. 

Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 

'Tis silent amid worldly toils, 

And stilled soon by mental broils; 

But, in a bosom thus prepared. 

Its still small voice is often heard, 

Whispering a mingled sentiment, 

'Twixt resignation and content. 

Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 

By lone St Mary's silent lake ;* 

Thou kuow'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, 

Pollute the pure lake's crj-stal edge ; 

Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 

At once upon the level brink ; 

And just a trace of silver sand 

Marks where the water meets the land. 

Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 

Each hill's huge outline you may view; 

Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, 

Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there, 

Save where, of laud, you slender line 

Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 

Yet even this nakedness has power, 

And aids the feeling of the hour : 

Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 

Where living thing concealed might lie ; 

Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, 

Where swain, or woodman lone, might d^rell; 

There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 

You see that all is loneliness : 

And silence aids — though these steep hills 

Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 

In summer tide, so soft they weep. 

The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 



» This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which 
the Yarrow takes its source. Near the lower extremity of the 
lake, are the ruins of Dvyhope Touer, the birth-place of Mary 
bcoit, dan'.'hter of Philip Scott of Dryliope, and famous by the 
tradilioial uaine of tlie Floorer of Yarrow. She was married to 
M'alter Sontt of Harden, no less renowned for his depreciations 
than 1ms bride for her beauty. 



128 MABMION. [c.lNTO D, 

Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude 
So stilly is the solitude. ' 

Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
But Avell I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,* 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
The peasant rests him from his toil,, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid, 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 

If age had tamed the passions' strife. 

And fate had cut my ties to life, 

Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell 

And rear again the chaplain's cell, ' 

Like that same peaceful hermitage, 

Where Milton longed to spend his age. 

'Twere sweet to mark the setting day. 

On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 

And, as it faint and feeble died, 

On the broad lake, and mountain's side, 

To say, " Thus pleasures fade away ; 

Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 

And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey ;" 

Then gaze on Drj-hope's ruined tower. 

And think on Yarrow's faded P'lower. 

And when that mountain-sound I heard 

Which bids us be for storm prepared. 

The distant rustling of his wings. 

As up his force the Tempest brings, 

'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 

To sit upon the Wizard's grave ;f 

That wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 

From company of holy dust; 



CANTO 11.] MARMIOX, 129 

On -Ahich no sun-beam ever shines — 

(So superstition's creed divines,) 

Thence view the lake, -with sullen roar, 

Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 

And 7nark the wild swans moiuit the gale. 

Spread wide through mist their snow^y sail, 

And ever stoop again, to lave 

Their bosoms on the surging wave : 

Then, when against the driving hail 

No longer might my plaid avail, 

Back to my lonely home retire, 

And light my lamp, and trim my fire : 

There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 

Till the wild tale had all its sway. 

And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 

I heard unearthly voices speak, 

And thought the Wizard Priest was come, 

To claim again his ancient home ! 

And bade my busy fancy range, 

To frame him fitting sliape and strange, 

Till from the task my brow I cleared, 

And smiled to think that I had feared. 

But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, 
(Tliough but escape from fortune's strife,) 
Something most matchless good, and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour, to musing given, 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease. 
Such peaceful solitudes displease : 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some i-uder and more savage scene, 
Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene,* 
There eagles scream from isle to shore; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 

* A mountain lake, of considerable size, at the head of the Mof- 
fat-water. 

f2 



130 MARMION. [canto II. 

Througli the nide barriers of the lalte, 
Away its hurrying >yaters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl, 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below. 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave, 
^Vho, prisoned by enchanter's spell, 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
And well that Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene, 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 
To view the bottom of the den, 
Where, deep deep down, and far within. 
Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
White as the snowy charger's tail. 
Drives dov\Ti the pass of Moffatdale. 

Harriot, thy harp, on Isis strung, 
To many a Border theme has rung : 
Than list to me, and thou shalt know 
Of this mysterious JSIan of Woe. 



CANTO SECOND. 

S^fie (lonbcnt. 

I. 

The breeze, which swept away the smoke. 

Round Norham Castle rolled ; 
When all the loud artilleiy spoke, 
With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke, 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze ; 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas. 

It freshly blew, and strong, 
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile^ 
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle. 

It bore a bark 



CAXTO U.J MARMIOX 131 

Upon the gale she stooped her siJe, 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 

As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laup;hed, to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honoured freight ; 
For, on the deck, in chair of state,* 
The Abbess of Saiat Hilda placed, 
With five fair nun -, the galley graced, 

II. 
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids, 
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades. 

Their first flight from the cage, 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was strange and new. 
And all the common sights they view, 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 

With many a benedicite ; 
One at the rij)pling surge grew pale, 

And would for terror pray; 
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh, 
His round black head, and sparkling eye. 

Reared o'er the foaming spray; 
And one would still adjust her veil, 
Disordered by the summer gale. 
Perchance le.<t some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there, 
Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — 
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 

• The Abbey of "Whitby contained both monks and nuns of 
cae Benedictine order; but, contrary to what was usual in such 
establishments, the abbess was superior to the abbot. Liuiiisfarne, 
was called Holy IsUiud, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, 
and from its hiving been the episcopal seat of the see of Durham 
durii:^ the early a^rs of British Chrsitianity. St Cuthbert, who 
%v-a.s sixth bishop of Durham, bestowed the name of his "patri- 
moii)'" upon the extensive property of the see. Lindisfarne is not 
properly an island, but rather, a semi-isle; for although surround- 
ed by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry between it 
and the opp Mte coast of Northiiuxherland, from which it is about 
two miles distant. 



132 MARMION. LCANTO il. 



The Abbess was of noble blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, ' 
Ere upon life she cast a look, 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the inlluence of her eye ; 
Love, to her ear, was but a name, 
Combined with vanity and shame 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall : 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 
Was of monastic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim, 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower, 
To raise the convent's eastern tower; 
For this, with carving rare and quaint, 
She decked the chapel of the saint. 
And gave the relique-shrine of cost, 
With ivory and gems embost. 
The poor her convent's bounty blest, 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 

IV. 

Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reformed on Benedictine school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare ; 
Vigils, and penitence austere. 
Had early quenched the light of youth, 
But gentle was the dame in sooth ; 
Though vain of her religious sway. 
She loved to see her maids obey. 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And the nuns loved their Abbess "welL 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Lindisfame. she came. 
There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old. 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict. 



CANTO IL] MARMION. 133 

On two apostates from the failb, 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 



Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair ; 
As yet a novice unprofessed, 
Lovely, and gentle, hut distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead. 
Or worse, who had dishonoured lied. 
Her kinsmen hade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land : 
Herself almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom. 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 



She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seemed to mark the waves below ; 
Nay seen)ed, so hxed her look and eye, 
To count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
Far other scenelier thoughts recall, — 
A sun-scorched desait, waste and bare, 
Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there ; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand. 
To hide it till the jackalls come. 
To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 
See what a woeful look was given, 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 



Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 

These chamis might tame the fiercest breast ; 

Harpers have sung, and poets told. 

That he, in fury uncontrolled, 

The shaggy monarch of the wood. 

Before a virgin, fair and govod. 

Hath pacified his savage mood. 

But j)assions in the human frame 

Oft put the lion's rage to shame: 



134 M.VKMION. [CANTO D. 

And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 

With sordid avarice in league, 

Had practised, with their bowl and knife, 

Against the mourner's harmless life. 

This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 

Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIII. 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 

Of mountainous Northumberland ; 

Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, 

And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 

Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay, 

And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 

They marked, amid her trees, the hall 

Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 

Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 

They past the tower of Widderington, 

Mother of many a valiant son ; 

At Coquet- idle their beads they tell, 

To the good Saint who owned the cell ; 

Then did the Alne attention claim. 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 

And next, they crossed themselves, to hear 

The whitening breakers sound so near, 

Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 

On Dunstanborough's caverned shore ; 

Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they here. 

King Ida's castle, huge and square. 

From its tall rock look grimly down, 

And on the swelling ocean frown ; 

Then from the coast they bore away« 

And reached the Holy Island's bay, 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For with the flow and ebb, its stile 
Varies from continent to isle ; 
Drj--shod, o'er sands, twice c\ery day, 
The jiilgrims to the shrine fmd way ; 



CANTO IL] 



MARJllON. 136 



Twice eveiy day, the waves efface 
Of staves and sandaled feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley Hew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The Castle, with its battled walls, 
Tlie ancient monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 

X. 

In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned^ 
With massive arches broad and round. 

That rose alternate, row and row 

On ponderous columns, short and low, 
Built ere the art was known, 

By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk. 

The arcades of an alley'd walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful Avas such strength to these. 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway. 
Open to rovers fierce as they. 
Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the i^ile, 
Rebuilded in a later stile. 
Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint. 
And mouldered in his niche the saint. 
And rounded, with consuming power, 
The pointed angles of each tower : 
Yet still entire the Abbey stood. 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon as they neared his turrets strong. 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, 
And with the sea- wave and the wind, 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, 
And made harmonious close ; 



136 MARMION. ! 

Then, answenng from the sandy shore, 

Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. 
According chorus rose : 
Down to the haven of the Isle, 
The monks and nuns in order file, 

From Cuthbevt's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and reliques there, 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare; 
And, as they caught the sounds on air, 

'I'hey echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood. 
Rushed emulously through the flood. 

To hale the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood. 

And blessed them with her hand. 
XII. 

Suppose we now the welcome said, 
Suppose the Convent banquet raadej 

AH through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might pry, 
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye, 

The stranger sisters roam : 
Till fell the evening damp with dew, 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, 
For there, even summer night is chill. 
Then, having strayed and gazed their fill, 

They closed around the lire; 
And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid ; for, be it known, 
That their saint's honour is their O'wn. 

XIII. 
Then \Miitby's nuns exulting told, 
How to their house three barons bold 

Must menial service do ; 
Wliile horns blow out a note of shame. 
And monks cry " Fye upon your name ! 
n wrath, for loss of sylvan game. 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 



CANTO n.l MAHMION. 137 

'" This, on Ascension-da)-, each year, 
While labouring on our harbour-pier, 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear. 
They told, how in their convent cell 
A Saxon princess once did dwell, 

The lovely Edelfled ;* 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone,'!' 

When holy Hilda prayed ; 
Themselves, within their holy hound, 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail,^! 
As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
And, sinking do^\'n, with flutterings faint, 
They do their homage to the saint. 

XIV. 

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, 
To vie with these in holy tale ; 
His body's resting-place, of old. 
How oft thei 

» She was the daughter of King Osway, ■who, in giatifiHe to 
heaven for the g^reat victory which he ^von in 6brt. against I'enda, 
the pazan king of Mercia, dedic-atcil Edelfleda. then but a year 
Old. to the service of God in the monastery of WTiitby, of which 
St Hilda was ttien abbess. She afterwai-ds adorned the place of 
her education with great magnificence. 

+ The reliques of tiie snakes which infested the precincts of the 
convent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not only beheaded, but 
petrified, are stUl found about tlie rocks, and are termed ty fossil- 
istii Amrnonitee. 

X iVfr Charlton, iu his History of Whitby, points out the true 
origin of the fable, from the number of sea-gulls, that, when flying 
from a storm, often alight near Whitby; and from tlie woodcucks, 
and other birds of passage, wliich do the same upon their arrival on 
shore, after a long flight. 

§ St Cwthhert died in the Fame islands, and his body was 
brought to Lindisfarne, where it remained until a descent of th 
Dane.s, about 763, when the monks fled to Scotland, with liis re 
liques : thev paraded him through Scotland for several years, and 
came as far west as Wliithorii, in Galloway, whence they at- 
tempted to sail for Ireland, but were driven back by tempests. 
He at length made a halt at Norham ; thence he wi-nt to Melrose, 
where he remained stationary for a short time, and l-hen canted 
himself to be launched upon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which 
landed him at Tillnioiith, in Nurthumberlaiul. From Tiibnouth, 
Cuthbert wandered into Yorkshire; and at length made a long 
itayat Cbester-le-stret-t, to which the bishop's see was transferred. 
At length, the Danes continuing to infest theountry, the monks 
removed to Rippon fur a season ; and it was in return fiom thence 
to Chester-le-street, that, passingthrough a forest called Duuholm^, 
the Saint and his carriage became immoveable at a place uumcd 
Wardlaw, or Wardilaw. 



138 MARMION. [cAjrro IL 

How, -when tte rude Dane burned their pile, 
The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
O'er northern moimtain, marsh, and moor, 
From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore 

They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it well, 

Not there his reliques might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 

In his stone-coflin forth he rides, 

(A ponderous bark for river tides) 

Yet light as gossamer it elides. 
Downward to Tillmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there, 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last. 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast 

Looks down upon the Wear : 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His reliques are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place. 
Save of his holiest servants three. 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 

XV. 
Who may his miracles declare ! 
Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, 

(Although with them they led 
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale. 
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 
And the bold men of Teviotdalc,) 

Before his standard fled.* 
'Twas he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edtred Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 



* ^Vllen David I., with his son Henry invaded N'nrthiinibcriand 
In 113t), the English host marched against them under the holy 
banner of St Ciithbert ; to the efficacy of which was imputed the 
great victory which they obtained at Northallerton. 



CANTO n.l MARMION. 139 

And turned the conqueror back aeain,* 
"When, with his ^iomlaa Do^vye^ band, 
He came to waste Northumberland. 

XVI. 

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would leam, 
If, on a rock by Lindisfarn, 
Saint Cuthbert sits, aud toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name li* 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, 
And said they might his shape behold, 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering stomi. 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarn disclaim. 

XVII. 
^Tiile round the fire such legends gOy 
Far different was the scene of woe, 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 
Council was held of life and death. 
It Avas more dark aud lone that vault, 

Than the worst dungeon cell ; 
Old Colwulf built it, J for his fault, 
In penitence to dwell, 
\Mien he, for cowl and beads, laid do\vn 
The Saxon battle-axe and croAVTi. 



* The Saint we are told appeared in a ^^sion to Alfred, wlien 
lurking in the marshes of Glastonbury, and promised l.im assist- 
ance and victory over his heathen enemies. As to \Villiain the Con 
queror, ha\-ing intimated an indiscreet curiosity to %'ie\v the Saint's 
body, he was, while in the act of commanding the shrine to be 
opened, seized ■ivith heat, sickness, and such a panic terror, that 
Qe fled and never dre^r his bridle till he got to the river Tees. 

+ Cuthbert since his death, has acquired the reputation of forging 
those Kntrochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Islaiui, 
and piiss there by the name of St Cuthbert's Beads. AVlii'leat this 
task, he is supposed to sit during the uighciipou a certain rock, aud 
use another as his an\-il. 

X Ceolwolf, or Colwulf, King of Northumberland, flourished in 
the eighth century. He abdicated the throne about 738, and retired 
to Holy Island, where he died in the odour of sanctity. These 
(lenitential- vaults served as places of meeting for the chaii'ter, when 
measures ot uncommon severity were to be adopted. But their 
most frequent use, dJ implied by the name, was as places for pei> 
orming penances, or undergoing puiuEhnvriTt, 



140 MARMION. [CANTO U 

This den, wliicli, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight, 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light. 
Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
A place of burial, for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the chmxh within. 
'T^vas now a place of punishment ; 
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent. 

As reached the upper air. 
The hearers blessed themselves, and said, 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their torments there. 



But though, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go. 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where the place lay ; and still more few 
Were those, who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blind-fold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung. 
From the rude rock the side-vaUs sprung; 
The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er. 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
Were aU the pavement of the floor ; 
The mildew drops feU one by one. 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset,^' in an iron chain. 
Which served to light this drear domain. 
With damp and darkness seemed to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 

There, met to doom in secrecy. 

Were placed the heads of convents three : 

* Antique chandelier. 



'■h 



CANTO II.T MARMION. 141 

All servants of Saint Benedicfc, 
The statutes of whose order strict 

Ou iron table lay ; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
Behind were these three judges shown, 

By the pale cresset's ray : 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's there. 
Sate for a space with visage bare, 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell. 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

Slie closel}^ drew her veil : 
Yon shrouded Hgure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,* 

And she with awe looks pale : 
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night. 
Upon who^e wrinkled brow alone, 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown, 

AVhose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style; 
For sanctity called, through the isle. 

The Saint of Lindisfarn. 

XX. 

Before them stood a guilty pair; 
But, though an equal fate they share. 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied. 
Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 

Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
And, on her doublet breast, 

She tried to hide the badge of blue. 
Lord iSIarmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the Prioress' command, 
A Monk undid the silken band. 

That tied her tresses fair, 
And raised the bonnet from her head, 
And down her slender form they spread. 

In ringlets rich and rare. 

« As in the case of Wliitby and of Holy Island, the mtroductioar 
of nuns at Tynemoutu, iu the reijjn or Henry VIII., is an auSc 
chronism. 



142 



[CAKTO n, 



Constance de Beverly they know. 

Sister professed of Fonte^Taud, 

Whom the church numbered with the dead, 

For broken vows, and convent fled. 



Wlaen thus her face was given to view, 

(Although so pallid was her hue, 

It did a ghastly contrast hear, 

To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 

Her look composed, and steady eye, 

Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 

And there she stood so calm and pale. 

That, but her breathing did not fail, 

And motion slight of eye and head, 

And of her bosom, warranted. 

That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. 

You might have thought a form of wax, 

Wrought to the life, was there ; 

So stiU she was, so pale, so fair. 



Her comrade was a sordid soul. 

Such as does murder for a meed ; 
AVho, but of fear, knows no controul. 
Because his conscience, seared and foul, 

Feels not the import of his deed ; 
One, whose brute- feeling ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the tempter ever needs, 
To do the savagest of deeds ; 
For them no visioned terrors daunt, 
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt ; 
One fear with them, of all most base. 
The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl. 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
His body on the Hoor to dash. 
And crouch, like hound beneath the lash ; 
'>J'^hile his mute partner, standing uoar, 
Waited her doom without a tear. 



CATON 110 MARMION. 143 

XXIII. 

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek. 
Well might her j^aleiiess terror speak ! 
For there were seen, in that dark wall, 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall. 
Who enters at such griesly door, 
Shall ne'er, I ween, tind exit more. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of hread : 
By each, in Benedictine dress, 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch, 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch : 
Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 
And building tools in order laid.* 

XXIV, 

These executioners were chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes, 
And, with despite and en\7 fired, 
Into the cloister had retired ; 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 

Strove, by deep penance, to efiface 
Of some foul crime the stain ; 

For, as the vassals of her will, 

Such men the church selected still, 

As either joyed in doing ill, 
Or thought more gi-ace to gain. 
If, in her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings their nature strove to own. 
B) strange device were they brought there. 
They knew not how, and knew not where. 

XXV. 

And now that blind old Abbot rose, 
To speak the Chapter's doom, 

* It is Tvell knowii, that tbe relitrious who broke their vovrs oT 
chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman vestals 
jji a similar case. A small niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies, 
was made in tlii lususii'e wall of the convent ; a slender pittance 
of food and water was dfci>ciited in it, and the awful word?, Vade 
IN Pjickm, were the signal for immuring the crijaiuaU 



144 MARIVIION. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 

Alive, within the tomb ; 
But sto})ped, because that woeful maiii, 
(jratheiing her powers, to speak essayed. 
Twice she essayed, and twice in vain ; 
Her accents might no utterance gain ; 
Nought but imperfect murmurs sii{) 
From her convulsed and quivering lip : 
'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 
You seemed to hear a distant rill— 

'Twas ocean's swells and fails ; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempest there you scarce could hoar. 
So massive were the walls. 

XXVL 

At length, an effoi-t sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart, 

And light came to her eye, 
And colour dawned upon her check, 
A hectic and a lluttered streak, 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 

By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at lenj^h. 
Still as she spoke, she gathered strength. 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy. 

In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII. 

" I speak not to implore your grace ; 
Well know I, for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; 
For if a death of lingering pain, 
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain. 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil, 
For three long years I bowed my pr'dc. 
A hor:e boy in his train to ride ^ 



CANTO n."! MARMION. 

And well my folly's meed he gave. 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyond the grave. — 
He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of broad lauds the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
And Constance was beloved no more. — 
'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 

But, did tny fate and wish agree. 
Ne'er had been read, in story old, 
Of maiden true betrayed for gold. 
That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 



*' The king approved his favourite's aim ; 
In vain a rival barred his claim. 

Whose faith with Clare's was plight, 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — ^and on they came, 

In mortal lists to fight 
Their oaths are said. 
Their prayers are prayed. 
Their lances in the rest are laid. 

They meet in mortal shock ; 
And hark ! the throng, with thundering or}'. 
Shout, ' Marmion, Marmion, to the sky ! 

De Wilton to the block !' 
Say ye, who preach heaven shall decide. 
When in the lists two champions ride, 

Say, was heaven's justice here ? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death. 

Beneath a traitor's spear. 
How false the charge, now true he fell. 
This giiilty packet best can tell." — 
Then drew a packet from her breast. 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 

XXIX. 

" Still was false Marmion's bridal staid ; 
To Whitby's convent lied the maid. 
The hated match to shun. 



145 



146 MARMION. [C^VNTO II. 

* Ho ! shifts she thus ?' King Henry cried, 

* Sir Maraaion, she shall be thy bride, 

If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remained — the king's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 
I lingered here, and rescue plann'd 

For Clara and for me : 
Tliis caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 
And, by his drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
Whose cowardice hath undone us both. 

XXX. 

" And now my tongue the secret tells. 
Not that remorse my bosom swells. 
But to assure my soul, that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
This packet, to the king conveyed, 
Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 
Although my heart that instant broke. — 
Now, men of death, work forth your will. 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he fast, 
It is but death who comes at last. 

XXXI. 

" Yet dread me, from my living tomb, 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 
If Marmion's late remorse should wake, 
Full soon such vengeance will he take, 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends. 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 
Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
Burst open to the sea- winds' sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones, 
Whitening amid disjointed stones. 



CANTO n.] JIARMION. 147 

And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
Marvel such relics here should be."— 



Fixed was her look, and stem her air; 

Back from her shoulders streamed her hair; 

The locks, that wont her brow to shade, 

Stared up erectly from her head ; 

Her figure seemed to rise more high ; 

Her voice, despair's -wild energy 

Had given a tone of prophecy. 

Appalled the astonished conclave sate ; 

VVith stupid eyes, the men of fate 

Gazed on the light inspired form. 

And listened for the avendng storm; 

The judges felt the victinvs dread; 

No hand was moved, no word was saidj 

Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 

Raising his sightless balls to heaven : — 

" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 

Sinful brother, part in peace P' — 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 
Of execution too, and tomb. 

Paced forth the judges three ; 

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 

The butcher- work that there befell, 

When they had glided from the cell 

Of sin and misery. 



An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But, ere they breathed the fresher air. 
They heard the shriekings of despair. 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they take, 
(Such speed as age and fear can make.) 
And crossed themselves for terror's sabe, 

As hurrjnng, tottering on. 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone. 
They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a paiting soul 



148 MARMION. 



fC^US'TO lU 



Slow o'er the midniglit wave it s^vung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
To Warkwortli cell tlie echoes rolled, 
His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 
The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell, 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
Listed before, aside, behind ; 
Then couched him down beside the hind. 
And quaked among the momitain fern. 
To hear that sound so dull and stem. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 

To William Erskine, Es<i. 

Ashestiel, Ettrioke Forest, 
Like April morning clouds, that pass, 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
And imitate, on field and furrow, 
Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north. 
Now in a torrent racing forth, 
Now winding slow its silver train. 
And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day, 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast. 
When the ear deems its murmur paat ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
Pleased, views the ri\-ulet afar. 
Weaving its maze irregular; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees. 
Then wild as cloud, or stream, or gale. 
Flow on, flow unconfincd, my talo. 



CAXTOm.] MARMION. 149 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell, 
I love the licence all too well, 
In sound now lowly, and now strong, 

To raise the desultory song? — 

Oft, when mid such capricious chime, 

Some transient fit of loftier rhyme. 

To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 

For many an error of the muse ; 

Oft hast thou said, '' If still mis-spent, 

Thine hours to poetry are lent, 

Go, and to tame thy wandering course, 

Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 

Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb 

Immortal laurels ever bloom : 

Insti-uctive of the feebler bard, 

Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 

From them, and from the paths they showed. 

Choose honoured guide and practised roa<l ; 

Nor ramble on through brake and mazo, 

"With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later timo 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Bi-unswick's venerable hearse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh, 
When valour bleeds for liberty ? — 
Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
When, with unrivalled light sublime, — • 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
The star of Brandenburgh arose, 
Thou could'' st not live to see her beam 
For ever quenched in Jena's stream. 
Lamented chief ! — it was not given. 
To thee to change the doom of heaven, 
And crush that dragon in his birth. 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented chief ! — not thine the power. 
To save in that presumptuous hour, 
When Prussia hurried to the field. 
And snatched the spear, but left the shield ; 



150 



[CiVNTo ra. 



Valour and skill 'twas thine to tiy. 

And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 

Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 

The last, the hitterest pang to share, 

For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, 

And birthrights to usurpers given ; 

Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, 

And v/itness woes thou could'st not heal ! 

On thee relenting heaven bestows 

For honoured life an honoured close ; 

And when revolves, in time's sure change, 

The hour of Germany's revenge, 

Wlien, breathing fury for her sake, 

Some new Arminius shall awake, 

Her champion, ere he strike, shall como 

To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero teach. 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach : 
Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar ; 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls. 
Which the grim Turk besmeared with blood, 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake, 
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warped wave their death-game played '. 
Or that, where vengeance and affright 
How I'd round the father of the tight. 
Who snatched on Alexandria's sand 
The conqueror's wreath "with dying hand. 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp which silent hung, 
Bv silver Avon's holy shore, 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er; 
^Vllen sue, the bold Enchantress, came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame ! 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure, 
And swept it with a kindi-ed measure, 



CV^TO m.] MAEMION. 

Till Avou's swans, -while rung the grove 
With Monfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakening at the inspired strain, 
Deemed their own Shakspeare lived again."- 



Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging. 
With praises not to me belonging, 
In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
Would' tt thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskiue, hast thou weighed 
That secret power by all obeyed, 
Which warps not less the passive mind. 
Its source concealed or undefined ; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether litlier termed the sway 
Of habit, formed in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confessed 
Rules Avith despotic s^vay the breast, 
And drags us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why. 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 
He seeks not eager to inhale 
The freshness of the mountain gale. 
Content to rear his whitened wall 
Ber^ide the dank and dull canal? 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
The white sail gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weather-beaten hind, 
Whose sluggish herds before him wind, 
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
His V Drthern clime and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laughing meads he goes. 
And England's wealth around him flows : 
Ask if it would content him well. 
At ease in these gay plains to dwell. 
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen. 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between ? 



151 



152 MARMION. [CANTO Ul. 

No ! not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range, 
Nor for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis grey and Garry's lake. 

Thus, -while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour. 
Though no broad river swept along, 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
Though sighed no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; 
Yet was poetic impulse given, 
By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were mdely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-Hower grew, 
And honey-suckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined Avail ; 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of human power ; 
And marvelled, as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewitched my mind, 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred their horse 
Their southeni rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
And, home returning, filled the hall 
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. — 
Methought that still with tramp and clanf» 
The gate- way's broken arches rang ; 



CANTO ni] MABiMION. 

Metliought grim features, seamed with scai'S, 

Glared thrcragh the -windows' rusty bars. 

And ever, by the winter Iiearth, 

Old tales I fieard of woe or mirth, 

Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms, 

Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 

Of patriot battles, won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 

Of later fields of feud and fight, 

When, pouring from their Highland height, 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 

While stretched at length upon the floor, 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebbles and shells, iu order laid. 

The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 

And still the scattered Southron iled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace. 
Anew, each kind familiar face. 
That brightened at oar evening fire ; 
From the thatched mansion's gi-ey-haired Sire^ 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood; 
AVhose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbours sought, 
Content with equity unbought ; 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest. 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke: 
For I was waj-ward, bold, and wild, 
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child ; 
But half a plaguo, and half a jest. 
Was still endui-ed, beloved, carest. 

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
Tlie classic poet's well-conned task ? 
Nay, Erskine, cay — on the wild hiU 
Let the wild heathbell flourish still ; 
g2 



153 



154 MAItMIOJV. f CANTO HI, 

Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 
But freely let the woodbine twine. 
And leave untrimmed the eglantine : 
Nay, my friend, nay — since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigour to my lays, 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 
Mv flattened thought, or cumbrous line, 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend. 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as streams, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale I ' 



CANTO THIRD. 

Oje pjostel, or Inn. 
I. 

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
The mountain path the Palmer showed ; 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland road. 
For the Merse forayers were abroad. 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey 
Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down ; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 
Nor waited for the bending bow; 
And when the stony path began, 
Hj which the naked peak they wan. 
Up flew the sno^vy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been passed before 
They gained the height of Lammermoor 
Thence wduding do\vn the northern way 
Before them, at the close of day. 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. 

II. 
No summons calls them to the tower, 
To ispend the hospitable hour. 



CANTO III.] MA.RKION. 155 

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 

His cautious dame, in bower alone, 

Dreaded her castle to unclose, 

So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a porch, whose front was graced 
With hush and flaggon trimly placed. 

Lord Marmion di'ew his rein : 
The village inn* seemed large, though rude 
Its cheerful tire and hearty food 
Might well relieve his train, 

Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 

With jingling spurs the court-yard i"ung; 

They bind their horses to the stall, 

For forage, food, and firing call. 

And various clamour fills the hall, 

Weighing the labour with the cost. 

Toils everywhere the bustling host. 



Soon by the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 
IVIight see, where, in dark nook aloof, 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savouiy haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide; 
Above, around it, and beside. 

Were tools for housewives' hand : 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate, 

* If the Scottish inns ■nrere not good, it ^'as not for wunt of en- 
couragement from the legislature; who, so early as the reign of 
James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs and fairs there be 
hostellaries, ha\-ing stables and chambers, and proi-ision for man 
and horse, but, by another statute, ordained, that no mau, travel- 
ling on horse or foot, chould presume to lodge any %^'here except 
in these hostellaries ; tuid that no person, save innkeepers, should 
receive such traveller.-, under the penalty of forty shilUngs, for 
e:vercisiug such hospitality. 



156 MARMIOX. [CANTO UI. 

And viewed around the blazing hearth. 
His followers mix in noisy mirth. 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, 
From ancient vessels x'anged aside. 
Full actively their host supplied. 



Their's was the glee of martial breast, 
And laughter their's at little jest; 
And oft Lord Marmiou deigned to aid. 
And mingle in the mirth they made 
For though, with men of high degree, 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 
With open hand, and brow as free. 
Lover of wine, and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower :- 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zerabla's frost. 

V. 

Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 

Right opposite the Palmer stood ; 
His thin dark visage seen but half. 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still fixed on Marmion was his look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could brool^ 

Strove by a frown to quell ; 
But not for that, though more than once 
Full met their stern encountering glance, 

The Palmer's visao^e fell. 



By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 
For still, as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard. 
Their glee and game declined. 



CAMO m.] MARMION. 

All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, -wondering in his fear, 

Thus whispered forth his mind : — 
" Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ! 
How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 
^^'hene'er the fire-brand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl." — 



But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Which thus had quelled their hearts, who saw 

The ever-vaiying tire- light show 

That figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire : — 
" Fitz- Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. 
To speed the lingering night away ? 

We slumber by the fire." — 



" So please you," thus the youth rejoined, 
" Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear. 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike, 
And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valendne, no thrush 
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush ; 
No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
AVoe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
Detains from us his melody. 
Lavished on rocks, and billows steni. 
Or duller monks of Lindisfam. 
Now must I venture as I may. 
To sing his favourite roundelay." — 

IX. 

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
The air he chose was wild and 5 j/i 5 



157 



^53 MARMION. cavNTom 

Such have I heard, in Scottish land 

Kise from the busy harvest band, ' 

When falls before the mountaineer 

On lowland plains, the ripened ear.' 

Now one shrill voice the notes prolong 

Now a wdd chorus swells the song : ^ 

Ult have I listened, and stood still 

As It came softened up the hill 

And deemed it the lament of men 

Who languished for their native den • 

And thought, how sad would be such sound. 

Un busquehana s swampy ground 

Kentucky's Avood-encumbered brake. 

Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 

Where heart-sjck exiles, in the strain, 

RecaUed fair Scotland's hills again 1 



. Song. 
Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 

lr*arted for ever ? 
mere, through groves deep and hkh, 

bounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillov.'. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There, thy rest shalt thou take. 

Parted for ever, 
Never again to wake. 

Never, O never, 

CHORUS. 
Eleu loro, &c. Never. O never. 



CANTO in.] MARBUON. 169 

XI. 

Wtere shall the traitor rest, 

He, the deceiver, 
"UTio could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying. 
Where mingles war's rattle. 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro^ &c. There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap, 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap. 

Ere life be paited. 
Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Never, O never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never. 



It ceased, the melancholy sound ; 
And silence sunk on aU around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear. 
And plained as if disgrace and ill. 
And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face. 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space, 
Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween. 
That, could their import have been seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce have wished to be their prey, 
For Luttenvard and Fontenaye. 



160 MARMION. 



CCANTO HI. 



xiir. 
High minds, of native pride and force, 
Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 
Fear for their scourge, mean villains have, 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ; 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel ; 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion- raised his head, 
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said : — 
" Is it not strange, that, as ye sung. 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul ? 

Say, what may this portend ?" 
Then first the Palmer silence broke, 
(The livelong day he had not spoke,) 

" The death of a dear friend."* 

XIV. 

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
Even from his king, a haughty look ; 
Whose accent of command controlled. 
In camps the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now. 
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow ; 

For either in the tone. 
Or something in the Palmer's look. 
So full upon his conscience strook, 

That answer he foimd none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when within 
They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daimts the brave : 
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise. 
And proudest princes vail their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 



* Among other omens among the Scottish peasantry, is what is 
CfiUed the " dead-bell f that tinkling in the ears which the country 
people regard as the secret intelligence of some I'riend's ikceaee. 



CiVNTOm.J MAHMION, ]6l 

XV. 

V\'ell might he falter !— by his aid 
V\ as Constance Beverley betrayed ; 
Not that he augur'd of the doom, 
Which on the living closed the tomb; 
But tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid , 
And wroth, because, in wild despair, 
She practised on the life of Clare ; 
Its fugitive the church he gave, 
Though not a victim, but a slave ; 
And deemed restraint in convent strange, 
Would hide her WTongs, and her revenge. 
Himself, proud Henrj-'s favourite peer. 
Held Romish thunders idle fear, 
Secure his pardon he might hold, 
For some slight nulct of penance-gold. 
Thus judging, he gave secret Avay, 
When the stem priests surprised their prey 
His traiu but deemed the favoiirite page 
Was left behind, to spare his ge ; 
Or other if they deemed, none dared 
To mutter v/hat he thought and heard : 
Woe to the vassal, who durst pry 
Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 

XVI. 

His conscience slept — he deemed her well, 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 
But wakened by her favourite lay. 
And that strange Palmer s boding say, 
That fell so ominous and di'ear, 
Full on the object of his fear. 
To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
Dark tales of convent vengeance rose ; 
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned, 
All lovely on his soul returned : 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call. 
She left her convent's peaceful v/all. 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute. 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 
Till love, victorious o' er alarm:;, 
Hid fears and blushes in his arms 



[CANTO lU 



XVII. 

" Alas !" he thought, " how changed that mien ! 

How changed these timid looks have been. 

Since years of guilt, and of disguise, 

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes ! 

No more of virgin terror speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, 

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 

And I the cause — for whom Avere given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 

AVould," thought he, as the pictm-e grows, 

"• I on its stalk had left the rose ! 

Oh why should man's success remove 

The verj' charms that wake his love ! 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 

And, pent within the narrow cell. 

How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 

How brook the stern monastic laws ! 

The penance how — and I the cause ! 

Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse !" — 

And twice he rose to cry " to horse !" 

And twice his sovereign's mandate came, 

Like damp upon a kindling Hame ; 

And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 

She should be safe, though not at large ? 

They durst not, for their island, shred 

One golden ringlet from her head." — 



\Vhile thus in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance and reviving love. 

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway 

I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard. 

And, talkative, took up the word : — 

" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 

From Scotland's simple land away, 
To visit realms afar, 

Full often learn the art to know, 

Of future weal, or future woe, 
By word, or sign, or star ; 



CANTO III.] MARMION. 1 C3 

Yet might a knight his foi-tune hear. 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
These broken words the menials move, 
(For marvels still the viilgar love ;) 
And, Marmion giving licence cold, 
His tale the host thus gladly told. 

XIX. 

The Host's Tale. 
" A clerk could tell what years have floAvn 
Since Alexander filled our throne, 
(Third monarch of that warlike name,) 
And eke the time when here he came 
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 
A braver never drew a sword ; 
A wiser never, at the hour 
Of midnight, spoke the word of power; 
The same, whom ancient records call 
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.* 
I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay 
Gave you that cavern to survey. 
Of lofty roof, and ample size. 
Beneath the castle deep it lies : 
To hew the living rock profound. 
The floor to pave, the arch to round. 
There never toiled a mortal arm, 
It all was -wTought by word and charm ; 
And I have heard my grandsire say, 
That the v/ild clamour- and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell, 
"WTio laboured under Hugo's spell, 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war, 
iUnong the caverns of Dunbar. 

XX. 

" The king Lord Gifford's castle sought, 
Deep- labouring with uncertain thought : 

» A vaxilted hall under the ancient cnstle of Oifford, or Vesler, 
(toi- it bears either naino iiidifftrently,) the construction ol w Uicb 
has. from a very remote perio^x, leen ascribed to magic 



? 

-'♦. 



164 MARMION. LCANTO HI. 

Even then he mustered all his host, 

To meet upon the western coast ; 

For Norse and Danish galleys plied 

Their oars ^vithiu the firth of Clyde. 

There floated Haco's banner trim,* 

Above Norweyan waiTiors grim. 

Savage of heart, and large of limb ; 

Threatening both continent and isle, 

Bute, An-an, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 

Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground. 

Heard Alexander s bugle sound. 

And tarried not his garb to change, 

But, in his wizard habit strange,"!* 

Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight ! 

His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 

His high and wrinkled forehead bore 

A pointed cap, such as of yore 

Clerks say that Pharaoli's Magi wore ; 

His shoes were marked with cross and spell ; 

Upon his breast a pentacle ;J 

His zone, of virgin parchment thin. 

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 

Bore many a planetary sign. 

Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 

And in his hand he held prepared, 

A naked sword without a guard. 



" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had marked strange lines upon his face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him gi'im. 
His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim. 



* In 1263, Haco, King of Norway, camp into the Fiith of Clyde 
with a po\vert'ul armament, and made a descent at Ijargs, in A^T- 
shire. He was encountered and defeated, on the 2d Octob'^r, by 
Alexander III. Haco retreated to Orkney, where he died Boon 
after this disgrace 

+ Magicians, as is well known, were very curious in tlie clioice 
and form of their vestments. The particiuais of Sir Hugo's drcaa 
are to be found in the Discourse concerning De\-ils and Spirits, ai> 
nexed to Keginai-d Scott's Discovery uf iPltctiCrafl, edition 1665. 

J A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five corners, 
accordnig, to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with charao 
ters. Tliis the magician extends towai'ds the spirits hich be 
evokes, when thev are stubborn nnd rebellious 



CiVNTO m.] 



HARMION. 105 



As one unused to upper day; 
Even his o%vn menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the gi-iesly sire. 
In this unwonted Avild attire ; — 
Unwonted, for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld the sun, 
' I know,' he said, — his voice was hoarse, 
And broken seemed its hollow force, — ■ 
' I know the cause, although untold, 
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe : 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 



" ' Of middle air the demons proud. 
Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fixed or wandering star. 
The issue of events afar ; 
But still their sullen aid withhold 
Save when by mightier force controlled. 
Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call. 
That scarce the deepest nook of heU 
I deemed a refuge from the spell, 
Yet, obstinate in silence still. 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou, — who little kuow'st thy might, 
As bom upon that blessed night,* 
When ya^^-ning graves, and dying groan, 
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — 
With untaught valour shalt compel 
Response denied to magic spell.' — 
' Gramercy,' quoth our monarch free, 
' Place hiai but front to front with me. 
And, by this good and honoured brand. 
The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand, . 
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide. 
The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 

* It is a popular article of fiuth, that those who are bora on 
Christmas, or Good-Friday, have the power of seeing spirits and 
fcveu of commanding thenu 



166 



[CANTO I 



His bearing bold the wizard viewed, 
And tbus, well pleased, his speech renewed.— 
*Tliere spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark: 
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, 
The rampart seek, whose circling crown 
CJrests the ascent of yonder down ; 
A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
And tmst thine elfin foe to see, 
In guise of thy worst enemy : 
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed— 
Upon him ! and Saint George to speed I 
If he go down, thou soon shalt know, 
Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; — 
If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
1 am no warrant for thy life.' — 

XXIII. 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 
Alone, and armed, rode forth the king 
To that old camp's deserted round : — 
Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound 
Left hand the town, — the Pictish race 
The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 
The moor around is brown and bare, 
The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know. 
For there the earliest wild flowers grow; 
But woe betide the wandering wight, 
That treads its circle in the night ! 
The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
Gives ample space for full career ; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven. 
By four deep gaps is entrance given. 
The southernmost our monarch past, 
Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
And on the north, within the ring, 
Appeared the form of England's king ; 
Who then a thousand leagues afar. 
In Palestine waged holy war : 
Yet arms like England's did he wield. 
Alike the leopards in the shield, 



LCANTO m. MARMION. 

Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
The rider's length of limb the same : 
Long afterwards did Scotland know. 
Fell Edward* was her deadliest foe. 



*' The vision made our monarch start, 
But soon he mann'd his noble heart, 
And in the first career they ran. 
The Elfin Knight fell horse and man ; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance, 
And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
The king, light leaping to the groimd. 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 

Memorial of the Danish war; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe wield, 
And strike proud Haco from his car. 
While, all around the shadowy kings. 
Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wing.-? 
'Tis said, that, in that a-\\^ul night, 
Remoter visions met his sight. 
Fore-showing future conquests far, 
"When our sons' sons wage northern war ; 
A roA-al city, tower and spire, 
Reddened the midnight sky with fire ; 
And shouting crews her naA^ bore, 
Triumphant, to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks explain, 
They pass the wit of simple swain, 

XXV. 

" The joyful king turned home again, 
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane ; 
But yearly, when returned the night 
Of his strange combat with the sprite, 
His wound must bleed and smart ; 

« Edward I., surnamnd Longshar.fe^, 



107 



168 MABMION. [canto III. 

Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander fills his grave, 

Our Lady give him rest ! 
Yet still the nightly spear and shield 
The elfin warrior doth wield, 

Upon the brown hill's breast; 
And many a knight hath proved his chance 
In the charmed ring to break a lance, 

But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. — 

Gentles, my tale is said." — 

XXVI. 

The quaighs* were deep, the liquor strong, 
And on the tale the yeoman throng 
Had made a comment sage and long. 

But Marmion gave a sign ; 
And, with their lord, the squires retire ; 
The rest, around the hostel fire, 

Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid : 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore . 
The dying Hame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 

XXV 11. 

Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz- Eustace lay; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread hia slumber broke. 
And, close beside him, whrn he woke, 

* A wf.oilor cup (»inp:isej of staves hooped together. 



CANTOllII.] aiARMlOJf. 169 

In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 
Stood a tall form, ^v^th nodding plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion's voice be knew. 

XXVIII. 

— " Fitz- Eustace ; rise, — I cannot rest ; 
Yon cburrs "wild legend baunts my breast. 
And graver thougbts bave cbafed my mood ; 
The air must cool my feverisb blood ; 
And fain would I ride forth, to see 
The scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 
I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid, 
And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed. 
While, whispering, thus the Baron aaid : — 

XXIX. 

" Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell. 

That in the hour when I was bom, 
St George, who giaced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from bis steed of marble fell, 

A weary wight forlorn ? 
The flattering chaplains all agree. 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to show. 
That I could meet this Elfin Foe ! 
Blithe would I battle, for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite : - 
Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be, 
An empty race, by fount or sea. 
To dashing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring." — 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad. 
And marked him pace the village road^ 
H 



170 MARMION. tCANTO IIL 

And listened to his horse's tramp, 
Till, by the lessening sound, 

He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord Mannion sought the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes, 
That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the church believed, — 

Should, stirred by idle tale. 
Ride forth in silence of the night, 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz- Eustace knov?, 
That passions, in contending flow. 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
We welcome fond credulity, 

Ghiide confident, though blind. 

XXXI. 

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited tiU he heard. 

At distance pricked to utmost speed, 

The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 
Come toAvn-ward rushing on : 

First, dead, as if on turf it trod. 

Then, clattering on the village road,- 

In other pace than forth he yode,* 
Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle. 
And, in his haste, well nigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw 
And spoke no word as he withdrew ; 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon crest was soiled with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
By stains upon the charger's knee, 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous signs^ 
At length to rest the squire reclines, 

• Used by old Poets for weiU. 



CANTO rvr.l BIARMION. 171 

Broken and short; for still, letween, 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 
To James Skemb, Esq. 

^shestiel, Etiiieke Forest, 
An ancient minstrel sagely said, 
" Wliere is the life which late "we led ?" 
That motley clown, in Arden wood, 
Whom humorous Jaques with envy viewed, 
Not even that clown could amplify. 
On this trite text, so long as I. 
Eleven years we now may teU, 
Since we have known each other well ; 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First drew the volimtary brand ; 
And sure, through many a varied scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have flown. 
To join the mass of ages gone ; 
And though deep marked, like all below, 
With chequered shades of joy and woe ; 
Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, 
Marked cities lost, and empires changed. 
While, here, at home, my narrower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 
Fevered the progress of these years. 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but 
The recollection of a dream. 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now, it scarcely seems a day, 
Since first I timed ihis idle lay ; 
A task so often thrown aside, 
When leisure gmver cares denied, 



172 MARMION. CCANTO IV 

That novf, November's dreary ^e, 

"Wliose voice inspired my openmg tale. 

That same November gale once more 

"Wbirls the diy leaves on YaiTow shore ; 

Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky, 

Once more our naked birches sigh ; 

And Blackhouse heights, and Ettricke Pen, 

Have don'd their wintry shrouds again ; 

And mountain dark, and flooded mead. 

Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 

Earlier than wont along the sky, 

Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly : 

The shepherd, who, in summer sun, 

Has something of our envy won. 

As thou with pencil, I with pen. 

The features traced of hill and glen ; 

He who, outstretched, the livelong day. 

At ease among the heath-flowers lay. 

Viewed the light clouds with vacant look. 

Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 

Or idly busied him to guide 

His angle o'er the lessened tide ; — 

At midnight now, the sno^vy plain 

Finds sterner labour for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless sun. 
Through heaxy vapours dank and dun ; 
When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm. 
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
To dismal, and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain. 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain; 
Till, dark above, and white below. 
Decided drives the flaky snow. 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine; 
Whistling, and cheering them to aid, 
Ai-ound ius back he -wreathos the pxaid: 



C-VNTO IV.] MARMION. 

His flock he gathers, and he guides 

To open downs, and mountain sides. 

Where, fiercest though the tempest blow, 

Least deeply lies the drift below. 

The blast," that whistles o'er the fells, 

Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 

Oft he looks back, while, streaming far, 

His cottage window seems a star, 

Loses its feeble gleam, and then 

Turns patient to the blast again, 

And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 

Drives through the gloom his lagging she^t 

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 

Benumbing death is in the gale ; 

His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, 

Close to the hut, no more his own. 

Close to the aid he sought in vain. 

The morn may find the stifFen'd Bvrain: 

His widow sees, at dawning pale. 

His orphans raise their feeble wail; 

And, close beside him, in the snow. 

Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe. 

Couches upon his master's breast. 

And licks his cheek, to break his rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 
His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood tree, 
His rustic kirn's* loud revelry. 
His native hill notes, tuned on high, 
To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed. 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on ^vings of game and glee, 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the ancient chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy; 

• The ScottJsh barvcst-homev 



173 



174 MARMIOK. [CANTO IV. 

But Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those, — since each must drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of heaven. 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
Whose joys are chastened by their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, 
When thou of late wert doomed to twine, — ■ 
Just when thy bridal hour was by, — • 
The cypress with the myrtle tie ; 
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled, 
And blessed the union of his child, 
When love must change its joyous cheer, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions, next his end. 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ;* 
The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold. 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind. 
But not around his honour'd urn, 
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried, 
Pour at his name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew, 
P'or benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
" The widow's shield, the orphan's stay." 
Nor, though it wake tliy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
" Thy father's friend forget thou not :" 

* Sir William Forbes of Pitslig-o, Baronet ; unequalled, perhaps, 
in the degree of individual artectioii enierrained for him by his 
friends, as well as in ihe general respect and esteem of Scotland at 
large. His " Life of Beanie," whom he befriended and patronised 
in life, as well as celebrated after his decease, was not long pub- 
lished, before the benevolent and affectionate biographer was called 
to follow the subject of his narrative. 



C-\NTO IV.] 



MARMION. 



175 



And grateful title may I plead. 
For many a kindly word and deed, 
To bring my tribute to his grave : — • 
'Tis little — but 'tis all I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks again ; 
When doing nought, — and, to speak true, 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged. 
While oft our talk its topic changed. 
And desultoiy, as our way. 
Ranged unconfined from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, 
No effort made to break its trance. 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too. 
Thou gravely labouring to pom-tray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray; 
I spelling o'er, with much delight, 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire. 
Jealous, each other's motions viewed, 
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
From the white-thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our nead ; 
Not Ariel lived more meiTily 
Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have been ours, 
When Winter stript the summer's bowers ; 
Careless we heard, what now I hear, 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, 
And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggard soul, 
Who shunn'd to quaif the sparkling bowl. 
Then he, whose absence we deplore, 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore, 
The longer missed, bewailed the more ; 



176 MARMION. [CANTO IV 

And ttou, and I, and dear-loved R -, 

And one whose name I may not say, — 

For not Mimosa's tender tree 

Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — 

In merry chorus well combined. 

With laughter drowned the whistling wind. 

Mirth was within ; and Care without 

Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene — 

Of the good horse that bore him best, 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 

For, like mad Tom's,* our chiefest care, 

Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 

Such nights we've had ; and, though tho gamo 

Of manhood be more sober tame, 

And though the field-day, or the drill, 

Seem less important now — ^yet still 

Such may we hope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain ; 

And mark, how like a horseman true. 

Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 

CANTO FOURTH. 

€fit Camp. 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sung shi-ill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Mamiion's bugles blew. 
And, with their light and lively call. 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 

Whistling they came, and free of heart ; 
But soon their mood was changed : 

Complaint was heard on every part, 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamoured loud for armour lost ; 
Some brawled and wrangled with the host ; 
*' By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear, 
That some false Scot has stolen my BpeaxP- 

* See B-ing Lear 



CANTO IV.] MARMTON. 177 

Young Blount, Lord Maxmioa's second squire, 

Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ; 

Although the rated horse-hoy sware. 

Last niglit he dressed liim sleek and fair. 

While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 

Old Hubert shouts, m fear and wonder, — ■ 

'• Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 

Bevis lies dying in his stall : 

To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 

Of the good steed he loves so well ?" — 

Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 

The charger panting on his straw; 

Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — 

" AMiat else but evil could betide, 

"With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 

Better we had through mire and bush 

Been lanthorn-led by Friar Rush."* 



Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed. 

Nor wholly understood. 
His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 

To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
Passed them as accidents of coui-se. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 

IIL 

Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish host; 
Aud, as the charge he cast and paid, 
" 111 thou deserv'st thy hire," he said ; 



* This personage ■was a sort of Robin Goodfellow, tmd Jock 
o' Laiithorn. It is in allusion to this mischievous demon tllOt 
JWUton's clown speaks, — 

She was pinched, and palled, she said. 
And he hy friar's lanthom led. 

n 2 



178 



[CANTO IV 



** Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight ? 

Fairies have ridden him all the night, 
And left him in a foam ! 
I trust, that soon a conjuring band. 
With English cross and blazing brand, 
ShaU drive the de^-ils from this land, 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I tro"W, 
All night they trampled to and fro."— 
The laughing host looked on the hire, — 
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire, 
And if thou com'st among the rest, 
With Scottish broad-sword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
And short the pang to undergo." — 
Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way, 
They journeyed all the morning day. 

rv. 

The green-sward way was smooth and good» 

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood ; 

A forest glade, which, varying still, 

Here gave a view of dale and hill ; 

There narrower closed, till over head 

A vaulted screen the branches made. 

" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 

" Such as where errant knights might see 

Adventures of high chivalr}' ; 

Might meet some damsel flying fast, 

With hair unbound, and looks aghast ; 

And smooth and level course were here, 

In her defence to break a spear. 

Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 

And oft, in such, the story tells, 

The damsel kind, from danger freed, 

Did grateful pay her champion's meed." — 

He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind ; 

Perchance to show his lore designed 
For Eustace much had pored 

Upon a huge romantic tome, 

In the hall- window of his home. 



OA^JTOIVO MARSnON. 179 

Imprinted at the antique dome 

Of Caxton or De Worde. 
Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in ^'ain, 
For Marmion answered nought agaia. 



Now sudden distant tnmipets shrill. 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill, 

Were heard to echo far ; 
Each ready archer grasped his bow, 
But by the flourish soon they know. 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land, 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band. 

Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they rode. 
When thinner trees, receding, showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade, 
The halting troop a line had made. 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 

VI. 

First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
So late the forest echoes rang ; 
On prancing steeds they forward pressed. 
With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 
Each at his trump a banner wore, 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmoioiit, Rothsay, came, 
In painted tabards, proudly sho%\-ing 
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing. 
Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held. 
That feudal strife had often quelled, 
When wildest its alarms. 

VII. 

He was a man of middle age ; 
In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 



180 MARMiON. [canto IV. 

As oil king's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home ; 
The Hash of that satiric rage, 
Which, bursting on the early stage, 
Branded the vices of the age, 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast. 

Silk housings swept the ground, 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest. 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see. 

First by Achaius borne, 
The thistle, and the lleur-de-Iis, 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the king's armorial coat, 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
In living colours, blazoned brave, 
The Lion, which his title gave. 
A train, which well beseemed his state. 
But all unarmed, around him Avait. 

Still is thy name in high account. 
And still thy verse has charms. 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion King-at-arms !* 



Down from his liorse did Marmion spring. 
Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 
For well the stately Baron knew. 
To him such courtesy was due, 



* Sir David liindesay was irell known for his cany feiforts in 
favour of the reformed doctrines. It was often an office imposed 
ou the Lion KiuK-at-arins to receive foreign ambas.s;iil •: 5. The 
office of heralds, m feudal times, being held of the utmost import- 
ance, the inauguration of the Kings-at-arms, vvho pi(;Ki.i'd over 
their colleges, was proportionally solemn. In fact, It was the 
mimicry of a royal coronation, except that tiio unotion iv*3 made 
with wme instead of oU. 



f. 



181 



^\Taoin royal James himself had crowned, 
And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem ; 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine, 
And on his Knger given to shine 
The emblematic gem. 
Their mutual greetings duly made, 
The Lion thus his message said : — 
" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore, 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 
And strictly hath forbid resort 
From England to his royal court ; 
Yet, for he knows Lord IMavmion's name. 
And honours m.uch his warlike fame. 
My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack 
Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
And, by his order, I, your guide. 
Must lodging fit and fair provide, 
Till finds King James meet titue to see 
The flower of English chivalry."— 



Though inly chafed at this delay. 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
The Palmer, his mysterious guide, 
Beholding thus his place supplied, 

Sought to take leave in vain : 
Strict was the Lion-King's command, 
That none, who rode in Marmion's band. 

Should sever from the train : 
" England has here enov/ of spies 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes ;" 
To Marchmount thus, apart, he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right-hand path they now decline, 
And trace against the stream the TjTie. 



At length up that wild dale they wind, 

Where Crichtoun-Castle crowns the bank ;* 

* A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about sevi 
miles from Edinburgh. 



^ 



182 MARMION. 

Por ttere the Lion's care assigned 
A lodging meet for Marmion's rank 
That Castle rises on the steep 

Of the green vale of Tyne ; 
And far beneath, Avhere slow they creep 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
"Where alders moist, and willows weep, 

You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose ; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 



[CANTO IV 



Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 

Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep, 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced within thy fort, 

Of mouldering shields the mystic 

Scutcheons of honour, or pretence. 
Quartered in old armorial sort, 

Remains of rude magnificence : 
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair ; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, 
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired, below. 
The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
Above its conrice, row and row 
Of fair he^vn facets richly show 

Their pointed diamond form. 
Though there but houseless cattle go 

To shield them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we explore, 

Where oft whllome were captives pent, 
The darkness of thy Massy More ; 

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
May trace, in undulating line, 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 




'T* 



.^wr 



^ j^s§fk^'<<, 



Or fejja til}" driiss-aroAATL lialdexni 
M-cft" IrfU-e, iTL"arLdulatm.o line, 

r, M t^liiij'iLsli maxGs of "Ci: 



CANTO IV.] MAHMION. 188 



Another aspect Crichtoun showed, 

As through its portal Marmion rode ; 

But yet 'twas melancholy state 

Received him at the outer gate ; 

For none were in the castle then. 

But women, boys, or aged men. 

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, 

To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 

Her son, a stripling twelve years old, 

Proffered the Baron's rein to hold ; 

For each man, that could draw a sword, 

Had marched that morning with their lord. 

Earl Adam Hepburn,* — he who died 

On Flodden, by his sovereign's side. 

Long may his Lady look in vain ! 

She ne'er shall see his gallant train 

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Deaa. 

'Twas a brave race, before the name 

Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 

XIII. 

And here two days did Marmion rest, 
With CYsry rite that honour claims, 

Attended as the king's oa\ti guest, — 
Such the command of roval James ; 
Who marshalled then his land's array. 
Upon the Borough moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry, 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 
And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise, — ■ 
Trained in the lore of Rome, and Greece, 
And policies of wax and peace. 

* He was the second Earl of BothweU, and fell in the field rf 
Flodden, where, be distinguished himself by a furious attempt to 
rctriov© the diy. 



18-i MARMION. [CANTO IV. 



It chanced, as fell the second night, 

That on the hattlements they "walked. 
And, by the slowly fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald- bard 
Said Marmion might his toil have spared, 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war :* 
And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled : 



SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE. 
Of all the palaces so fair, 

Built for the royal dwelling, 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 
Linlithgow is excelling ; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 

How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild buck bells+ from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merrj^on the lake, 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all tlie year : J 

* This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic Bimpliclty. 
Buclianaii, in more elegant, though not more impressive language, 
tells the same story, and quotes the personal information of our 
Sir David I^indesay. The king's throne, in St Catharine's aisle, 
which he had constructed for himself, with twelve stalls for the 
Knights Companions 0t^e Order of the Thistle, is stil: shown 
as the place \vhere the apparition was seen. 

t Bell seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. A gentle knight 
In the reign of Henry VIII., Sir Thomas Wortley, built Wantley 
Lodge, in Wancliife Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancient inscrip- 
tion testifies) of "listening to the hart"s bell." 

* The rebellion against James III. was signalized by the cruel 
circumstance of his son's presence in the hostile army. When tho 
kinKsaAv his own banner displayed against Iiim, and his son in tho 
faction of his enemies, he lost the little courage he ever possessed, 
fled out of the field, fell from his horse as it started at a vroiiuua 
and water-pitcher, and was slain, it is not well understood ^^y 
whoiru 



CJ\KTO IV.] MARMIOX. 

Too well liis cause of grief you kno"W,- 
June saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors, who coulJ bring 
The princely boy against his King ! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 



" TMien last this inithful month was come. 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying ; 
WTiile for his royal father's soul 
The chaunter's sung, the bells did toll, 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt. 
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt, 
And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
Around him, in their stalls of state, 
The Thistle's Knight-Companious sate, 

Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
Was watching where the sunbeams fell. 
Through the stained casement gleaming 
ut, while I marked what next befell, 
It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azure gown, with cincture white ; 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
Now, mock me not, when, good my -Lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly woi^ 
That, when I saw his placid grace, 
His simple majesty of face. 
His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, — 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the Saittt, 
Who propped the Virgin in her feint, — 
The loved Apostle John. 



185 



186 MARMION. [CANTO IV. 



'• He stepped before the Monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness there. 

And little reverence made ; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, 
But on the desk his arm he leant, 

And words like these he said, 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone : 
' My mother sent me from afar, 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,— 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair, 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : 

God keep thee as he may !' — 
The wondering Monarch seemed to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised his head to speak. 

The monitor was gone. 
The Marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward past ; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast. 

He vanished from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast. 
That glances but, and dies." — 



While Lindesay told this marvel strange, 

The twilight was so pale. 
He marked not Marmion's colour change, 

AVhile listening to the tale : 
But, after a suspended pause. 
The Baron spoke : — " Of Nature's laws 

So strong I hold the force. 
That never super- human cause 

Could e'er controul their course ; 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
^Vas but to make your guest your game. 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
What much has changed my sceptic creed, 



CANTO IV.] MARMION. 

And made me credit aught." — He staid. 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid ; 
Bat, by that strong emotion pressed. 
Which prompts us to unload our breast, 

Even when discoverj-'s pain, 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told, 
At Grifford, to his train. 
jS'ought of the Palmer says he there, 
And nought of Constance, or of Clare : 
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 

XI2. 

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couched my head : 

Fantastic thoughts returned ; 
And, by their Avild dominion led, 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode. 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold. 
Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I passed through. 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my ear,— 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my o^vn. 

XX. 

Thus judging, for a little space 
I listened, ere I left the place ; 

But scarce could tinist my eyes, 
Xor yet can think they served me true, 
When sudden in the ring I view. 
In form distinct of shape and hue, 

A mounted champion rise. — 
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day 
In single fight, and mixed a&ay. 
And ever, I myself may say. 

Have borne me as a kmght; 



187 



188 MARMION. [CANTO IV. 

But when this unexpected foe 

Heemed starting from the gulph below, — 

I care not though the truth I show, — 

I trembled with affright ; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for very fear, 

I scarce could couch it right. 



" Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell : — 
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? — 

I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening hand. 
The spectre shook his naked brand, — 

Yet did the worst remain ; 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight, like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern vindictive look. 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead. — 

I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 
A human warrior, with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I prayed, 
(The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 

He plunged it in the sheath ; 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : 
The moon-beam drooped, and deepest night 

Sunk down upon the heatn. — 
'Twere long to tell what cause I have 

To know his face, that met me there, 
Called by his hatred from the gra.ve, 

To cumber upper air : 
Dead or alive, good cause had he 
To be my mortal enemy." — 



J 89 



XXI :. 
Marvelled Sir Da-snd of the Mount ; 
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 

Such chance had hap a of old, 
When once, near Norham, there did fight 
A spectre fell, of fiendish might, 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 

With Brian Bulmer bold. 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 

" And such a phantom, too, 'tis said. 

With Highland broad-sword, targe, and plaid^ 
And fingers red with gore, 
I3 seen in Rothiemurcus gkde, 
Or where the sable piue-trees shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid, 

Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 
And yet, whatever such legends say. 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 

On mountain, moor, or plain. 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 
True son of chivalry should hold 

These midnight terrors vain ; 
For seldom Lave such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour, 
"VMien guilt we meditate within, 
Or harbour unrepented sin." — 
Lord Marmion turned him half aside. 
And twice to clear his voice he tried. 

Then pressed Sir David's hand, — 
But nought, at length, in answer said ; 
And here their farther converse staid. 

Each ordering that his band 
Should boANTie them vfith. the rising day. 
To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 

Such was the King's command. 

y.xm. 

Early they took Dun-Edin's road. 
And I could trace each step tb*?y trode ; 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor roclf. aor stono 
Lies on the nath to me unknovvn. 



190 MARMION. [CANTO W. 

Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passmg such digression o'er, 
Suffice it, that their route was laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty rill, 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 



Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest, 
Or listed, as I lay at rest, 

While rose, on breezes thin. 
The murmur of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the summit to the plain. 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 

And o'er the landscape as I look, 
Nought do I see unchanged remain, 

Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan, 
Of early friendships past and gone. 



But diflFerent far the change has been, 

Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown : 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Borough-moor below,* 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A thousand did I say ? I ween, 
Thousands on thousands there was seen. 
That chequered all the healh between 

The streamlet and the town ; 
In crossing ranks extending hx. 
Forming a camp inegular ; 

* The Borough, or Comraoii Moor of Edinburgh, was of Tery 
great extent, reaching from the southera walls of the city to the 
bottom of Braid Hills. 



CANTO IV.] MARMION. 191 

Oft giving way, -where still there stood 

Some reliques of the old oak wood, 

That darkly huge did intervene, 

And tamed the glaring white with green : 

In these extended lines there lay 

A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXVI. 

For from Hehudes, dark with rain, 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain. 
And from the southern RedsAvire edge, 
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, 
\Vhere chiefs reviewed their vassal rank. 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent Hashed, from shield and lance. 

The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVIT. 

Thin curling in the morning air. 

The wreaths of failing smoke declare, 

To embere now the brands decayed. 

Where the night-watch their fires had made. 

They saw, slow rolling on the plain. 

Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 

And dire artillery's clumsy car, 

By sluggish oxen tugged to war ; 

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,* 

And culverins which France had given. 

Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain 

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor marked they less, where in the air 

A thousand streamers flaunted tair ; 
Various in shape, device, and hue, 
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 

* Seven culverins so called, cast by one Bor'.hwiw!r. 



92 



[canto IV 



Broad, uarroAV, sAvallow-tailed, and square, 

Scroll, pennon, pensil, handrol,* there 
O'er the pavilions flew. 

Highest, and raidmost, Avas descried 

The royal banner, floating wide ; 

The stafi', a pine-tree strong and straight. 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
Which still in memory is sho-^-n, 
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight. 
Whene'er the western wind unrolled. 

With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, 
And gave to view the dazzling tieUl, 
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, 

The ruddy liiou ramped in gold.T 



Lord Marmion viewed the landscape b;ight,— 
He viewed it with a chief's delight, — 
Until within him burned his heait, 
And lightning from his eye did part. 

As on the battle-day ; 
Such glance did falcon never dart, 

"WTien stooping on his prey. 
" Oh ! well. Lord- Lion, hast thou said, 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay ; 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine. 
Not power infernal, nor divine. 
Should once to peace my soul incline. 
Till I had dimmed their armour's shine 

In glorious battle fray !" — - 
Answered the bard, of milder mood : 
" Pair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 

That kings would think withal, 
When peace and wealth their land have blessed, 
'Tis better to sit still at rest, 

Than rise, perchance to fall." — 



* Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of 
tliose entitled to display theiu. 

t The well-knowii arms of Scotland. According; to Boetliius 
and Buchanan, the double tressure round the ehield, was (irst as- 
sumed by Achaius, Kin^ of Scotland, contemporary of Charlo- 
masne. 



CANTO IV.] MARMION. 198, 

XXX. 

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed. 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 

When sated with the martial show 

That peopled all the plain below. 

The wandering eye could o'er it go, 

And mark the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendour red; 

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, 

That round her sable turrets ilow. 
The rcoming beams weie shed. 

And tinged them with a lustre proud, 

I -ike that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
Suca dusky grandeur clothed the height. 
Where the huge castle holds its state 

And all the steep slope do^vn, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 
Piled deep and massy, close and high, 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze, 
Ou Ochil mountains fell the rays. 
And as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gleamed a purple amethyst. 

Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 

Here Preston- Bay, and Berwick- I^aw ; 
And, broad between them rolled. 

The gallant F'irth the eye might note, 

AN'hose islands on its bosom float. 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; 
As if to give his rapture vent, 
The spur he to his charger lent, 

And raised his bridle-hand. 
And, making demi-volte in air. 
Cried, " Where's the coward tliat wovdd not dare 

To tight for such a land ! 
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see; 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 



Thus -while they looked, a flourish proud. 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. 



194 MAamoN. [canto 

And fife, and kettle-drum, 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery 
And var-pipe with discordant cry. 
And cj-mbal clattering to the sky, 
Making wild music bold and high. 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 

And thus the Lindesay spoke : — 
" Thus clamour still the war-notes when 
The King to mass his way has ta'en. 
Or to St Catherine's of Sienne, 

Or chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame ; 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their cheer. 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air, 
In signal none his steed should spare, 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer. 

XXXII. 

"Nor less," he said, — "when looking forth, 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hilly throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
Her stately halls, and holy towers — 

Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
To think what woe mischance may biiug. 
And how these merr)- bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant King ; 

Or, with their larum, call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not, for my presaging thought. 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought ! 

Lord Marmion, I say nay : — 
God is the guider of the field. 
He breaks the champion's spear and shield, — 

But thou thyself shalt say. 



CANTO v.] JttARMION. 

Wtenjoins yon host in deadly stowre. 
That !&igland's dames must weep in bower. 

Her monks the death- mass sing ; 
For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on hy such a King." — 
And now, down winding to the plain. 
The harriers of the camp they gain. 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string, 
And fit his harp the pomp to sin^ 
Of Scotland's ancient Court and 

In the succeeding lay. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH, 
To George Ellis, Esq. 

Edinburg ',. 

When dark December glooms the day. 

And takes our autumn joys away ; 

When short and scant the sunbeam throws. 

Upon the weary waste of snows, 

A cold and profitless regard. 

Like patron on a needy bard ; 

When sylvan occupation's done, 

And o'er the chimney rests the gun. 

And hang in idle trophy, near. 

The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 

When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 

And greyhound with his length of limb, 

And pointer, now employed no more. 

Cumber our parlour's narrow floor ; 

When in his stall the impatient steed 

Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 

When from our snow-encircled home, 

Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam. 

Since path is none, save that to bring 

The needful water from the spring ; 

When wrinkled news-page, thrice con'd o'er, 

Beguiles the dreaiy hour no more. 



195 



196 MAIIMION. [CANTO V, 

And darkling politician, crossed, 
Inveighs against tiie lingering post, 
And answering house-wife sore complains 
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains : 
AVhen such the country cheer, I come. 
Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 
P"'or converse, and for books, to change 
The Forest's melancholy range. 
And welcome, with renewed delight. 
The busy day, and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time. 
As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
And Ettricke stripped of forest bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,")* 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent. 
By bulwark, line, and batileraent. 
And Hanking towers, and laky Hood, 
Guarded and garrisoned she stood. 
Denying entrance or resort, 
Save at each tall embattled port; 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long, 
Since, early closed, and opening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate; 
Whose task from eve to morning tide 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! O, how altered now, 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sitt'st, like Empress at her sport, 
And liberal, unconfined, and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea. 
For thy dark cloud, with umbeied lower, 
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower, 

• ?f-e Introduction to Tanto II. 
+ TTie old Towii of Kiluiburgli wasst-cmeii on the north side by 
a Inke, now drained, and on the south bv a «a!l. whii h there wa<! 
som-- Jitten-pt to make ilelensible even ?i- 1 ite as \Tib. The eates, 
and the greater part of the witll, have oee'i pulled down, in the 
couTfce of the late e^teusive aiid beautilui eulurcrenieut ot the city. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 

Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the chanipioness of old, 
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, — 
She for the charmed spear renowned, 
Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, - 
Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 
What time she was Malbecco's guest,* 
She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 
When from the corslet's gi-asp relieved, 
Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 
Erst hidden by the aventayle ; 
And down her shoulders graceful rolled 
Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 
They who whilome, in midnight fight, 
Had marvelled at her matchless might, 
No less her maiden charms approved. 
But looking liked, and liking loved.-f- 
The sights could jealous pangs beguile. 
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile ; 
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 
Forgot his Columbella's claims, 
And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
Nor durst light Paridel advance. 
Bold as he was, a looser glance, — 
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
Incomparable Britomarte ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 
A.S stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
Still, as of yore, Queen of the North ! 
Still canst thou send thy children forth. 



197 



* See "The Fairy Queen," Book ITT. Canto IX. 
+ " For every one her liked, and erery one her loved." 

Spknser cu ab<n)C 



198 MARMION. [canto V. 

Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine. 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil. 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renowned for hospitable deed. 
That virtue much with heaven may plead. 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who light for the Good Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty ; 
Since first, when conquering York arose, 
'lo Heniy meek she gave repose,* 
Till late, with wondex, grief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's reliques, sad she saw. 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise, 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change. 
For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
Or for Tradition's dubious light. 
That hovers 'tvvixt the day and night: 
Dazzling alternately and dim. 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen. 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost.' 
And can we say, which cheats the most? 

» Henry VT., with his queen, his heir, and tha chiefs of bis 
famUy, fied to Scotland afler the fatal battle of Towton 



CANTO V.J 



BL1.RMI0N. 



199 



But who shall teach my horp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain, 
^VTiose Anglo-Noraian tones whilere 
Could win the Second Henry's ear,* 
Famed Beauclerc called, for that he loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved? 
"Who shall these lingering notes redeem. 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung? — 
O ! bom Time's ravage to repair, 
And make thy dying Muse thy care; 
Who when his scj-the her hoary foe 
Was poising for the final blow. 
The weapon from his hand could wring. 
And break his glass, and shear his wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain, 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thoa, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic moral gay. 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life ap{ roved. 
Example honoured, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art. 
To win at once the head and heart, — 
At once to chaiTii, instruct, and mend. 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend ! 

Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, O ! 
No more by thy example teach 
What few can practise, all can preach ; 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure. 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given : 
Forbid the repetition. Heaven ! 



* The courts of our Anelo-'Nonnan kings, rather than tboee 
tlie French monarchs, procfuced the birth of romance literature* 



200 MARMION. rCANTO T 

Come, listen, then ! for thou hast known. 
And loved, the Minstrel's varying tone ; 
Who, like his Border sires of old. 
Waked a wild measure, rude and bold, 
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 
With wonder heard the northern strain. 
Come, listen ! — bold in thy applause. 
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane. 
Irregularly traced and planned, 
But yet so glowing and so grand ; 
So shall he strive, in changeful hue. 
Field, feast, and combat, to renew, 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 

CANTO FIFTH. 

^5e Court 

I. 

The train has left the hills of Braid ; 
The ban-ier guard have open made, 
(So Lindesay bade,) the palisade. 

That closed the tented ground. 
Their men the warders backward drew. 
And carried pikes as they rode through, 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
Upon the Southern band to stare ; 
And envy with their wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows. 
So huge, that many simple thought, 
But for a vaunt such weapons WTOught ; 
And little deemed their force to feel. 
Through links of mail, and plates of steel, 
When, rattling upon Flodden vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.* 

* This is no poetical exago^eratioii. In some of the counties of 
England, distinguished for archeiy, sliafts of this extraordinary 
length -were actually used. 



CA>-TO v.] MAEHiOS. 201 

II. 

Nor less did Mamiion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron tiirough ; 
And much he marvelled cue small land 
Could marshal forth such various band : 

For men-at-arms were hero. 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate, 
ijike iron towers for strength and ■•.veiglit, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a lighter train. 
Practised their chargers on the plain, 
By aid of leg. of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show ; 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
The sword-sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below 
He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed, on foot, with faces bare,* 

For visor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
But burnished were their corslets bright. 
Their brigantines, and gorgets light, 

Like very silver shone. 
Long pikes they had for standing fight, 

Two-handed swords they wore, 
And many wielded mace of weight, 

And bucklers bright they bore. 

III. 

On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest, 

With iron quilted well ; 
Each at his back, (a slender store,) 
His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were halbard, axe, or spear, 
A cross-bow there, a hagbut here, 

* The Scottish burgpsses were appointed to be armed witU bcmra 
Slid slit-aves, sword, buckler, kiiile, 8(>ear, or a good axe instead of 
a bow, if worth ^flOO: their armour to be of white or bright hivr- 
ness. They wore white hats, i.e. bright steel caps, without crest 
oi: \-isor. 

1-2 



202 MARMION. [CANTO V 

A dagger-knife, and brand. — * 
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, 
As loth to leave his cottage dear, 

And march to foreign strand ; 
Or musing who -would guide his steer, 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard teiTor lie ; — 

More di-eadful far his ire. 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came, 
Their valour like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 

IV. 

Not so the Borderer : — bred to war. 
He knew the battle's din afar. 

And joyed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please, 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The light-armed pricker plied his trade, — • 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead, 
Burghers, to guard their to-svnships, bleed, 

But war's the Borderers' game. 
Their gain, their glorj', their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way. 
Scarce caring who might win the day. 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Mannion's train passed by, 
Looked on at first with careless eye. 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 

* Bows eind quivers were in vain recommended to the peasantry 
of Scotland, by repeated statutes ; spears and axes seem iini\ et^ 
sally to have been used instead of them. Their defensive armour 
was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine ; and tht ir missile wea- 
pons cross-bows and culverins All wore swords of excellent, 
temper, and a voluminous handkerchief round their neck, not for 
cold, but for cutting. The mace also was much used in the Scot- 
tisharmy. When the feudal array of thekingdom wascalled fnrib. 
each man was obliged to appear with forty days' provision 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 

But when they saw the Lord arrayed 
In splendid anns, and rich brocade, 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 

" Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! 
Canst guess which road they'll homeward rid/3 ? 
O ! could we but on Border side, 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
Might chance to lose his glistering hide ; 
B^o^v^l Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 

Could make a kirtle rare," 



Next Marmion marked the Celtic race, 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed. 
And wild and garish semblance made. 
The chequered trews, and belted plaid. 
And varying notes the war-pipes brayed 

To every varpng clan ; 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes, with savage stare. 

On Marmion as he past ; 
Their legs above the kp.ee were hare ; 
Their frame was sine-^-y, short, and spare, 

And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer s undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins Avell supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head ; 
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid 
A broad-sword of unwieldy length, 
■ A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore. 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — ^but, O ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow. 

To that which England bore. 
Tlie Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 



203 



204 MARMION. [CANTO V. 

They raised a wild and wondering cry, 

As with his guide rode Mamriou by. 

Loud were their clamouring tongues, as "when. 

The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, 

And, witn their cries discordant mixed, 

Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 



Thus through the Scottish camp they passed, 
And reached the City gate at last, 
AVhere all around, a wakeful guard. 
Armed burghers kept their watch aud ward. 
Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
When lay encamped, in field so near, 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they go. 
All was alive with martial show ; 
At every turn, Avith dinning clang. 
The armourer's anvil clashed and rang; 
Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 
Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
Of jarring griud-stone was applied. 
Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, 
Through street, and lane, and market-place. 

Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
While burghers, with important face, 

Described i^ach new-ccme lord. 
Discussed his lineage, told his name. 
His following,* and his warlike fame. — 
The Lion led to lodging meet. 
Which high o'erlooked the crowded street 

There must the Baron rest. 
Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
And then to Holy- Rood must ride, — 

Such was the King's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich, and costly wines,"!' 

To Marmion and his train. . 



* Following — Feudal Retainers. 

+ In all transactions i>f ^reat or petty importance, a present of 
xine was aa uniform and indispeusable preUminarv, 



CAKTO v.] MARMION. 206 

And when the appointed hour succeeds. 
The Baron dons his peaceful weeds. 
And following Lindesay as he leads. 
The palace-halls they gain. 

VII, 

Old Holy- Rood rang merrily, 
That night, with wassel, mirth, and glee : 
King James within her princely bower 
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power, 
Summoned to spend the parting hour ; 

For he had charged, that his array 

Should southward march by break of dsy. 

Well loved that splendid monarch aye 
The banquet and the song, 

By day the tourney, and by night 

The merr)- dance, traced fast and light. 

The masquers quaint, the pageant bright, 
The revel loud and long. 

This feast outshone his banquets past ; 

It was his blithest, — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, 
Cast on the court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; 
There ladies touched a softer string ; 
With long-eared cap, and motley veat, 
The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants \iei\ •, 

While some, in close recess apart. 

Courted the ladies of their heart. 
Nor courted them in vain ; 

For often, in the parting hour. 

Victorious love asserts his powci* 
O'er coldness and disdain ; 

And flinty is her heart, can view 

To battle march a lover true, — 

Can hear, perchance, his last adieu. 
Nor owa her share of pain. 

Tiir. 
Through this mixed crowd of glee and game. 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 
Wbile, reverend, all made room. 



206 



[canto v. 



An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly fonn to know. 
Although, bis courtesy to show. 
He dofted, to Marmion bending low. 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal were his garb and mien, 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piied, 

Trimmed with the fur of martin wild; 
His vest, of changeful satin sheen, 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crovm, 
The thistle brave, of old renown ; 
His trusty blade, Toledo right. 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
\\Tiite were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; 
H is bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 



The monarch's form was middle size ; 
For feat of strength, or exercise, 

Shaped in proportion fair ; 
And hazel was his eagle eye, 
And auburn of the darkest dye, 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
And, oh ! he liad that merry glance, 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew, 
And loved to plead, lament, and sno ; 
Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain f 
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

I said he joyed in banquet-bower; 
But, mid his mirth, 'twas often strange, 
How suddenly his cheer would change, 

His look o'ercast and lower. 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 



CANTO V.I MARMION. 207 

That bound his breast in nenance-paiii. 
In memory of his father slain.* 
Even so twas strange how, evermore, 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er, 
forward be rushed, with double glee, 
Into the stream of revelry : 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Staitles the courser in his ilight, 
And half he halts, half springs aside; 
But feels the quickening spur applied. 
And, straining on the tightened rein. 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway ;>f« 

To Scotland's court she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
WTio Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
And with the King to make accord. 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay King allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and love, 

For her to break a lance ;X 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand. 
And march three miles on southern land. 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen, he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 

* To the wei<fht of thia belt James added certain ounces every 
year that he lived. The person and character of James are deUii- 
eateJ according to our best historians. He was wont, during his 
fits of devotion, to assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of 
the order of Franciscans ; and when he had thus done peuaice for 
Borne time in Stirling, to pUuuje again into the tide of pleasure. 

t Our historians impute to the king's infatuated passion the 
delays which led to the fatal defeat of Floddeu. 

t "the Queen of France wrote a love-letter to the King- of Scot- 
land, calling him her lo^-e, and beseeching him to raise her an 
army, aud come three feet of ground on English groimd, for het 
sake. To tnat eiiect sne sent nmi a ring on her fiager, with four- 
teen thousand Freuch cro^vns to pay his expenses. 



20S MABMION. CCANTO V, 

And thus admitted English fair, 
His inmost counsels still to share; 
And thus, for both, he madly planned 
The ruin of himself and land ! 

And yet, the sooth to tell, 
Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen, 
Were worth one pearl-drop, hriarht and sheen. 

From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower. 
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 

XI. 

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 

And weeps the weary day. 
The war against her native soil, 
Her Monarch's risk in battle broil : — 
And in gay Holy- Rood, the while, 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as she touched and tuned them all. 
Even her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view ; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wmple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing, 
Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 
And then around the silent ring ; 
And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 
Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, 
She could not, would not, durst not play ! 
At length, upon the harj), with gleo. 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, air she rung. 
While thus the wily lady sung. 

XII. 

LOCHINVAR, 

Lady Heron's Sono. 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best s 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 209 

And save liis good broad-sword he weapons had none • 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faitliful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
Jle staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 
lie swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 
Bui, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, 

and all : 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 
" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" — 
" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denieil ; — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine. 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up. 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked do^vn to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could l)ar, — 
" Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochirivar, 
So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume ; 
And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by 

far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
var." 
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
Wlien they reached the hali door and the charger 
stood near ; 



210 



[CAPrro V. 



So ligTit to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young' 

Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netlierhy 

clan; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 

they ran : 
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

XIII. 
The Monarch o'er the syren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressing closer, and more near, 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 
And ladies winked, and spoke aside. 

The witching dame to Marmion threw 
A glance, where seemed to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due, 

And of her royal conquest, too, 
A real or feigned disdain : 

Familiar was the look, and told, 

Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The King observed their meeting eyes, 
With something like displeased surprise; 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook, 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad. 
Which Marmion's high commission showed : 
" Our Borders sacked by many a raid, 
Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said ; 
*' On day of truce our Warden slain. 
Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en — 
Unworthy were we here to reign, 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain 5 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Our herald has to Henry borne." — 



CANTO v.] 



211- 



He paused, and led where Douglas stood, 
i\nd with stern eye the pageant viewed : 
I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore. 
Who coronet of Angus bore, 
AnfL, when his blood and heart were high. 
Did Ihe third James in camp defy, 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary ilat : 
Princes and favourites long grew tame, 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat.* 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers. 
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 
And Bothweli bank is blooming fair, 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His armour for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff his brand, 
Yet often would flash forth the fire. 
That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand ; 
And even that day, at council board. 

Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, 

Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal Lord.+ 

* Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angnis, a man romnrkah!? for 
Btrongth of body and mind, acquired the popular name of i».-iJ. 
tJu!- Cat, upon the following remarkable occasion. ^V^lea the 
Bcottish nobility had assembled to deliberate on putting the ob- 
noxious favourites of James III. to death, Lord Grey told thjDi 
the fable of the mice, who resolved that one of their number should 
put a bell round the neck of the cat to warn them of its comnig ; 
but no one was so hardy as to attempt it. " I understand the 
moral" said Angus : " I will bell-the-cat," He bearded the king to 
purpose by hanging the favourites over the bridge of Lauder, 
Cochran their chief being elevated higher than the rest. 

+ Angus was an old man when the war against England was re- 
solved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure from its 
commencement ; and, on the eve of the battle of Flodden, re- 
monstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the king 
said to him, with scorn and indignation, '■ if he was afraid, he 
might go home." The earl burst into tears at this insupportable 
insult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons, George, master 
of AngvLS and Sir William, of Glenbervie, to command his fol- 
lowers. They were both slain in the battle, ^vith two huiidreo 
frentlemen of the name of I>oug1a3. 



212 



LCArao V 



XV. 

His giant-l'onn, like ruined tower. 
Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt. 

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower: 
His locks and beard in silver grew ; 
His eye-brows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood, 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : — 
" Lord Marmion, since these letters say 
That in the North you needs must stay. 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, 
To say — Return to Lindisfarn, 

Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold ;* 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade,'!' 
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
More than to face his country s foes. 
And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, 

But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first-fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A be\'y of the maids of heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
And, while they at Tantallon stay, 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." — 
And, with the slaughtered favourite's name 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 



* The ruins of Tzmtallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting 
into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North lierwick. 
The building is not seen tiU a close approach, as there is risiug 
ground betwixt it and the laud. The circuit is of large extend 
fenced Vipon three sides by the precipice which overhangs tlie sea, 
and on the fourth by a double ditch and very strong outworks. 

+ A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears, 
among a sreat deal of flourishing, two hands pointing to a heart, 
which is placed betwixt them, and the date 1329, beiug the year 
in which Bruce charged the Good Lord Douglas to carry hia heart 
to the Holy Lcind. 



C.V^TO V.l JIARXIION. 213 



In answer nought could Angus speak : 

His proud heart swelled Avell nie-h to break : 

He turned aside, and do^^•n his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook : 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as doth his spirit live. 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold. 
In speech more free, in war more bold. 

More tender, and more true :* 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again. — 
And, while the King his hand did strain. 
The old man's tears fell dowTi like rain. 
To seize the moment Marmion tried, 
And whispered to the King aside : — 
" Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed ! 
A child will weep at bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart : 
But Avoe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high, 
"NVhen Douglas wets his manly eye !" — 

XVII. 

Displeased was James, that stranger viewed 

And tampered with his changing mood. 

" Laugh those that can, weep those that naay," 

Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 

"■ Southward I march by break of day ; 

And if within Tantallon strong. 

The good Lord JNIarmion tarries long. 

Perchance our meeting next may fall 

At Tamworth, in his castie-hall." — 

♦ ODowelas! Dowglaa! 
Tendir aud trew. 

The noulate. 



214 



[canto v- 



The haughty Mamiion felt the taunt, 

And answered, grave, the royal vaunt : 

" Much honoured were my humble homej 

If in its halls King James should come; 

But Nottingham has archers good. 

And Yorkshire men are stem of mood ; 

Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. 

On Derby Hills the paths are steep ; 

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 

And many a banner will be torn. 

And many a knight to earth be borne, 

And many a sheaf of arrows spent. 

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent : 

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.**- — 

The Monarch lightly turned away, 

And to his nobles loud did call, — 

" Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall !"* 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led I>ame Heron gallantly ; 

And minstrels, at the royal order. 

Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 

XVITI. 

Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Whose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 
Till James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by his command. 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care, 
As escort honoured, safe, and fair. 

Again to English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
Nor knew which Saint she should implore .• 
For when she thought of Constance, sore 

She feared Lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have felt ! 
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt, 

Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 

♦ The Ewcient crv to make room for a dancc» or pageant. 



CANTO V.J MARMIOX. 

Unfittingly, King .lames bail yiven. 

As guard to ''•niithy's .sliado?:, 
The man most dip^i'Ied under heavBU 

By these defenceless maids ; 
Yet what petition could avail, 
Or Avho would listen to the t'ile 
Of woman, prisoner and nun. 
Mid bustle of a war begun ? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 



Their lodging, so the King assigned, 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined; 
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh. 
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 

Who warned him by a scroll, 
She had a secret to reveal, 
That much concerned the Church's weal. 

And health of sinners' soul ; 
And, with deep charge of secrecy, 

She named a place to meet. 
Within an open balcony. 
That hung from dizzy pitch, and high. 

Above the stately street ; 
To which, as common to each home, 
At night they might in secret come. 

XX. 

At night in secret there they came, 
The Palmer and the holy dama. 
The moon among the clouds rode high, 
And all the city 1mm Avas by. 

Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar, 

You might have heard a pebble fall. 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 
An owlet flap his boding w'ing 
On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique buildings, climbing hi/rh. 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sl\y. 
Were here wrapt deep in shade : 



215 



216 MAa.M10>\ [CANTO V. 

There on their hrows the moc'u-l>f>am broke, 
Through the faint wreatha of silvery ^moke. 

And on the casern euts played. 
And other hght was none to see. 

Save torches gliding far, 
Before some chieftain of degree, 
Who left the royal revelry 

To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 



" O, holy Palmer !" she began, — 
" For sure he must be sainted man. 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found ;— 
For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail. 
Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
How vain to those who wed above ! — 
De ^Vilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame. 
To say of that same blood I came ;) 
And once, when jealous rage was high. 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
And had made leag^ae with Martin Swart,* 
When he came here on Simnel's part 5 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His I'ebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove : — the thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 
AVhere frankly did De Wilton oAvn, 
That Swart in Guelders he had known ; 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger returned. 
Judge how De Wilton's fur>' burned : 

* A German seneral, who commanded the auxiliaries sont by 
the Duchess of Bur^undjr with Lambert Simnpl. He was do 
fcated and kiUtid at Stokoflald. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 217 

For in his packet there were laid 

Letters that claimed disloyal aid. 

And proved King Henry's cause betrayed. 

His fame, thus blighted, in the field 

He strove to clear, by spear and shield ;— 

To clear his fame in vain he strove, 

For wondrous are His ways above ! 

Perchance some foiTn was unobserved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved ;* 

Else how could guiltless champion quail, 

Or hoAV the blessed ordeal fail ? 

XXII. 

" His squire, who now De AVilton saw 
As recreant doomed to sutfer law, 

Repentant, owned in vain. 
That, while he had the scrolls in care, 
A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
Had drenched him with a beverage rai©;— 

His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won, 
Who, rather than wed Marmion, 
jDid to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 
To give our house her livings fair, 
And die a vestal vot'ress there. 
The impulse from the earth was given. 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade^ 
No, not since Saxon Edelfied ; 

Only one trace of earthly strain, 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain, 
And murmurs at the cross. — 
And then her heritage ; — it goes 

Along the banks of Tame ; 
Deep fields of grain the reaper mows. 
In meadows rich the heifer lows, 
'1 he falconer, and huntsman, knows 

Its woodlands for the game. 

* It was early necessary for those who felt themselves oWimsd 
to believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the trialby 
duel, to find salvos for the strange and ob\'iou8ly precarious 
chanocs of the combat. 

K 



218 MARMION. [PA^^TO V. 

Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 
Aijd I, her humble vot'ress here. 

Should do a deadly sin, 
Her temple spoiled before mine eyes, 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By my consent should win : 
Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn, 
That Clare shall from our house be torn 
And grievous cause have I to fear, 
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 



*' Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine, and grotto dim ; 
By every martyr's tortured limb ; 
By angel, saint, and seraphim. 
And by the Church of God ! 
For mark : — When Wilton was betrayed, 
And with his squire forged letters laid, 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid. 

By whom the deed was done, — 
O ! shame and horror to be said ! — 

She was a perjured nun : 
No clerk in all the land, like her, 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem, 

That Marmion's paramour, 
(For such vile thing she was,) should scheme 

Her lover's nuptial hour ; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 
As privy to his honour s stain. 

Illimitable power : 
For this she secretly retained 

Each proof that might the plot reveal. 
Instructions with his hand and seal ; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned. 
Through sinner's perfidy impure, 
Her house's glory to secure, 
And Clare's immortal weal. 



219 



XXIV. 

" 'T-were long, and needless, here to tell, 
How to my hand these papers fell ; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true ! 
Who knows what outrage he might do, 

While journeying by the way? — 

! blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by land or main. 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
I give this packet to thy care. 
For thee to stop they will not dare; 

And, O ! with cautious speed. 
To Wolsey's hand the papers brimfj 
That he may show them to the King ; 

And for thy -well-eamed meed, 
Thou holy man, at "Whitby's shrine, 
A weekly mass shall still be thine. 

While pi-iests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou ? — Speak !" — For as he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 

His frame ; and, ere reply. 
They heard a faint, yet shxilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown, 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, 
" Saint Withold save us ! — What is here ! 

Look at yon City Cross ! 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear. 

And blazoned banners toss 1" — 

XXV. 

Dun-Edin's Cross,* a pillar*d stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon ; 

* Tl>e cross of Edinburgh was aa ancient and curious structure 
Tlie lower part Tvas an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in diameter, 
and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there was a pillar, and 
between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. Abo7e these was a 

firojecting battlenien t, with a turref at each corner, and medalr- 
lons, of rude but curious workmanship, between them. Above 
this rose the proper Cross, a column of oue atene, upwards of 
twenty feet high, surmoimted with an imicom. From the tower 
of the Cross, the heralds published the acts of Parliament. 



220 MARM10J(. [CAMTO 

(But now is razed that monument, 
Whence royal edict rang, 

And voice of Scotland's law was sent, 
In glorious trumpet clang. 
O ! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
Upon its dull destroyer's head !- 
A minstrel's malison* is said. — ) 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law. 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures, that seemed to rise and die, 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly. 
While nought confirmed could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and Pursuivants prepare. 
With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, 

A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud. 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd. 

This awful summons came :i' — 



" Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer. 
Whose names I now shall call, 

Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ! 

Subjects of him who sent me here, 

At his tribunal to appear, 
I summon one and all : 

I cite you by each deadly sin, 

That e'er hath soiled your hearts within 5 

I cite you by each brutal lust. 

That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — • 
By -wrath, by pride, by fear. 



* t. e. Curse. 
t This snpematnral citation is mentioned ly all oar Scottish 
historians. It was probably, like the apparition at Linlithgoir, aa 
attempt, by those averse to the war, '.» inioose uaon tho Bupersti 
tiouo temper of James IV, 



CAHTO v.] MAR5II0N. 

By each o'er-mastering passion's tone, 
By the dark grave, and dying groan I 
When forty days are past and gone, 
I cite ycu, at your Monarch's throne, 

To answer and appear." — 
Then tliuudered forth a roll of names : — 
The first was thine, unhappy James ! 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Cra^Yford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — • 
Why should I tell their separate style ? 

Each chief of birth and fame, 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbay, 
De Wilton, erst of Aherley, 
The self-same thundering voice did say* — 

But then another spoke : 
*' Thy fatal summons I deny, 
And thine infernal lord defy. 
Appealing me to Him on High, 

^\'^lo burst the sinner's yoka" — 
At that dread accent, with a scream. 
Parted the pageant like a dream. 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast. 
What time, or how, the Palmer passed. 

XXVII. 

Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move, 

Dun-Edin's streets are empty now. 
Save when, for weal of those they love. 
To pray the prayer, and vow the vow. 
The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
The grey-haired sire, with pious care. 
To chapels and to shrines repair. — 
Where is the Palmer now? and where 



221 



222 MARMION. CCANTO V. 

The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare? — 
Bold Douglas 1 to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge: 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand. 
The Palmer still was with the band ; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did command, 

That none should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's aJtered mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen; 

Freely he spoke of war, 
Of marvels wi-ought by single hand, 
When lifted for a native laud ; 
And still looked high, as if he planned 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed, and stroke. 
And, tucking up his sable frocke, 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe, or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 



Some half-hour's march behind, there came 
By Eustace governed fair, 

A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 
With all her nuns, and Clare. 

No audience had Lord Marmion sought ; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 

And safer 'twas, he thought. 

To wait till, from the nuns removed, 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self approved, 

Her slow consent had wrought. 

His was no dickering flame, that dies 
Unless when fanned by looks and sighs, 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He longed to stretch his wide command 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land: 
Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 
Although the pang of humbled pride 
The place of jealousy supplied. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 223 

Yet conquest, hy that meauness -wou 

He almost loathed to think iipoi?, 

Led him, at ti:'.c!s, to hate the cause, 

Which made him burst through honour's laws. 

If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone, 

Who died within that vault of stone. 

XXIX. 

And now, when close at hand they saw 
North- Berwick's town and lofty Law, 
Fitz- Eustace bade them pause a while, 
Before a venerable pile,* 

Whose turrets viewed, afar. 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace, or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
^\*ith her, a loved and honoured guest. 
Till Douglas should a bark prepare. 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess. 
And thanked the Scottish Prioress ; 
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
The courteous speech that passed between. 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave : 
But when fair Clara did intend. 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

Fitz- Eustace said, — " I grieve. 

Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 

Sucri gentle company to part. — 
Think not discourtesy, 

But Lords' commands must be obeyed ; 

And Marmion and the Douglas said, 
That you must wend wnth me. 

Lord Marmion liath a letter broad, 

AVhich to the Scottish Earl he showed. 

Commanding, that, beneath liis care, 

AVithout delay, you shall repair. 

To your good kinsman. Lord Fitz-CIare." — ■ 

* The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cistertian nuns, near 
North Berwick, of which there are still some remains. It was 
founded by Duncan Earl of Fife, in 1216. 



224 MARMION, [CANTO V. 



The startled Abbess loud exclaimed; 
But she, at whom the blow was aimed, 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom read. 
" Cheer thee, my child !" the Abbess said, 
" They dare not tear thee from my hand. 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

" Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz- Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care, 

In Scotland v/hile we stay ; 
And, when we move, an easy ride 
Will bring us to the English side, 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir ; 
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord, 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That e'en to stranger falls. 
Till he shall place her, safe and free. 

Within her kinsman's halls." — 
He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace 
His faith was painted on his face. 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 

Entreated, threatened, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed. 
Against Lord Marmion inveighed, 
And called the Prioress to aid, 
To curse with candle, bell, and book, — 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 
"■ The Douglas, and the King," she said, 
" In their commands will be obeyed; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon hall." — 



The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 225 

For much of slate she had, — 
Composed her vcii, and r:li^ed her head. 
And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

" Thy master, bold aud bad, 
The records of his house turn o'er, 

Aud, when he shall there written see. 

That one of his own ancestry 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry,* 
Bid him his fate explore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 

II is charger hurled him to the dust. 

And, by a base plebeian thrust, 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 

He is a chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse ; 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin. 

And Jael thus, and Deborah," — 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
"' Fitz- Eustace, we must march our tand; 
St Anton' tire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 

To hear the Lady preach? 
By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay. 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horso ; 
The Dame must patience take perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"■ Submit we then to force," said Clare ; 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 
His purposed aim to win ; 

* Robert de Marmion, in the rei^ of King Stephen, ha\-ing ex 
pelled the monks from the church of Coventry, was not long of 
experiencing the divine jiidgineut, as the same monks no doubt 
termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal war with the Earl of 
Chester, Marmiou's horse fell, as he charged ai;ainst a body of the 
Karl's folio werct: the rider's thigh being broken by the fall, his 
bead was cut off by a common foot-soldier, ere he could receive 
way succour. 



226 MARMION. [CANTO V 

Let liim take living, land, and life; 
But to be Marmion's ■wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the king's decree, 
That I must find no sanctuary, 
Where even a homicide might come, 

And safely rest his head. 
Though at its open portals stood. 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood, 

The kinsmen of the dead ; 
Yet one asylum is my own. 

Against the dreaded hour ; 
A low, a silent, and a lone, 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare !" — 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a. one ; 
Weeping and wailing loud arose 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried, 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 

Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed, 
And, by each courteous word and deed, 

To cneer her strove in vain. 

XXXIII. 

But scant three miles the band had rode. 

When o'er a height they passed. 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers, Tantallon vast : 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three sides the ocean flows ; 
The fourth did battled walls enclose. 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow draw-bridge, outworks strong, 
Through studded gates, an entrance long, 

To the main court they cross. 



CA:ST0 v.] ALA.RM10N. ' 227 

It •was a wide and stately square ; 
Around were lodgings, fit and fair, 

And towers of various form, 
Which on the court projected far, 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high. 
Or pinnace that sought the sky. 
Whence oft the Warder could descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 



Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should I declare, 
Or say they met reception ia,b:? 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which, varying, to Tantallon came, 
By hurrying posts, or lieeter fame, 

With ever)' var}-ing day ? 
And, first, they heard King James had -woe. 

Ettall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then. 

That Norham castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion ; — 
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whispered news there came, 
That, while his host inactive lay, 
And melted by degrees away. 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. — 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there, and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a histor\\ — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post, 

Which frowns o'er IMilltield Plain; 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gathered in the southern land, 
And marched into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears without the trumpet caJl, 



228 . MAKAilON. CCANTOVI 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle. like a fearful maid. 

When such a field is uear ; 
Needs must I see this battle-day : 
Death to my fame, if such a fray 
AV'ere fought, and Marmlon away ! 

The Douglas, too, I wot not why, 

Hath 'bated of his courtesy : 
No longer in his halls I'll stay." — 
Then bade his band, they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 

To Richard Heber, Esq. 

Mcrtoun. House, Christmas. 
HeaP on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; 
But let it whistle as it will. 
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has deemed the new-born year 
The fittest time for festal cheer : 
Even heathen yet, the savage Dane 
At lol more deep the mead did drain ;* 
High on the beach his galleys drew. 
And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
Then in his low and pine-built hall, 
Where shields and axes decked the wall. 
They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ; 
Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 

* The Tol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christ- 
mas in Scotland,) was solemnized with great festivity. The hu- 
mour (if the Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each other 
with bones ; and Torfaeus tells a curious story, of one Hottug, who 
was so generally assailed with these missiles, that he constructed- 
out of the bniies with which he was overwhelmed, a very respect- 
able intrenchment, against those who continued the raillery. In the 
dances of the northern warriors round the great fires of pine-trees, 
they danced with Suoh fury, holding each other by the hand!-, 
that, if the grasp of any failed, he was pitched into the fire with 
the velocity of a sling. The suflFerer, on such occasions, was in- 
stantly plu-'kcd cut, and obliged to quaff off a certain measure of 
ale as a peii.iliy for "£v>oilinp; the kijig\9 fire " 



CANTO VI.] MARMION- 229 

\\niile round, in bnital jest, were fhrown 

The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-hone ; 

Or listened all, in grim delight, 

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 

Then forth, in frenzy, would -they hie, 

While wildly loose their red locks fly. 

And dancing round the blazing pile. 

They make such barbarous mirth the while. 

As best might to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honour to the holy night : 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung ;* 
That only night, in all the year. 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green ; 
Forth to the wood did merry-men go. 
To gather in the misletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes. 
That night might village partner choose ; 
The lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight, 
And general voice, the happy night, 
That to the cottage, as the crown. 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 

* In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said at night, 
ceptiog on Christmas eve. 



230 MARMION. CCANTO VL 

Bore tlien upon its massive board 

No mark to part the squire ari.l lord. 

Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 

By old blue-coated sen.-ii>g-raan ; 

Then the grim boar's-head fro-\\Tied on high, 

Crested with bays and rosemary. 

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell, 

How, Avhen, and where, the monster fell ; 

What dogs before his death he tore, 

And all the baiting of the boar. 

The wassel round in good brown bowls. 

Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 

There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard hy 

Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pye ; 

Nor failed old Scotland to produce, 

At such high-tide, her savoury goose. 

Then came the meriy masquers in. 

And carols roared with blythesome din ; 

If unmelodious was the song, 

It was a hearty note, and strong. 

Who lists may in their mumming see 

Traces of ancient mystery ;* 

White shirts supplied the masquerade. 

And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 

But, O ! what masquers richly dight 

Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 

England was merry England, when 

Old Christmas brought his sports again. 

'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ; 

'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger in our northern clime 
Some remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, within our vallies here, 
We hold the kindred title dear. 
Even when perchance its far-fetched claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 

* It seems certain, that the Mummers of England, who usrd to 
£,0 about in disguise to the neighbouring houses, bearing the thea 
Gfleless ploughshare; and the Guisards of Scotland, not yet iu 
total disuse, present, in some indistinct degree, a shadow of tl\e 
old raj-steries, which were the origin of the English drama. 



CANTO VL] 1L4.RMI0N. 231 

For course of blood, our 4)roverbs deem. 
Is "warmer than the mountain -stre^Tim.* 
And thus, my Christmas still I bold 
AV'here my great-giandsire came of old^i' 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair. 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and holy-tide to share, 
And mix sobriety -with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 
Small thought was his, in after time 
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast. 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 
The banished race of kings revered, 
And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind, 
Is with fair liberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land. 
Little we heed the tempest drear, 
WTiile music, mirth, and social cheer. 
Speed on their wini^s the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
TVTien not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain ; 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just, that, at this time of glee. 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! 
For many a merry hour we've known, 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 

* " Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to vindi- 
cate our fiimily predilections. 

•♦ This venerable old gentleman was the younger brother of 
William Scott of Reaburn. Being the cadet of a cadet of the 
Harden family, he had very little to lose; yet he contrived to lose 
the smaJI property he had, by engaging in the civil wars and in- 
trigues of the house of Stuart. Hia veneraticu for the exiled 
family was so great, that he swore.he would uot shave his be&rd 
till they were restored. 



232 MARMION. [CANTO VI 

Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease, 
And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
Of Roman and of Glecian lore. 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say- 
Were "• pretty fellows in their day,"* 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale— 
Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain. 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 
To bear the clash of rusty arms ; 
In Fairy Land or Limbo lost, 
To jostle conjuror and ghost, 
Goblin and witch !" — Nay, Heber dear, 
Before you touch my charter, hear. 
Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more. 
My cause with many-Ianguaged lore, 
This may I say : — in realms of death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith; 
./Eneas, upon Thracia's shore. 
The ghost of murdered Polydore ; 

For omens, we in Livy cross, 

At every turn, locutus Bos. 

As grave and duly speaks that OX, 

As if he told the price of stocks ; 

Or held, in Rome republican. 

The place of Common-councilman. 
All nations have their omens drear. 

Their legends wild of woe and fear. 

To Cambria look — the peasant see. 

Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 

And shun " the spirit's blasted tree." 

The Highlander, whose red claymore 

The battle turned on Maida's shore, 

Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 

If asked to tell a fairy tale '.•};• 

* " Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir — a very pretty iellow in 
tiis day." — Old Bachelor, 

t The belief in fairies, is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, 
who ihink they are particularly offended with mortals, who ta.lk 
ol them, who wear their favourite Ci'ldur greeu,or in any respect 
interfere with their affairs. This is particularly to be avoided on 
Friday, when they are more active, and possessed oif greater 
power. 



CAICTO VLj MARJIION. 333 

He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
Who leaves that day his grassy ring ; 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the towers of Franchemont,* 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair? — 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay, 
Amassed through rapine, and through wrong, 
By the last lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A Huntsman sits, its constant guard; 
Around his neck his horn is hung, 
His hanger in his belt is slung; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie: 
An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. 
Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look, 
Afl bugle e'er in brake did sound 
Or ever hollowed to a hound. 
To chase the fiend, and win the prize, 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged Necromantic Priest; 
It is an hundred years at least. 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 
And neither yet has lost or won. 
And oft the conjuror's words will make 
The stubborn Demon groan and quake; 
And oft the bands of iron break, 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain. 
Fast as 'tis opened, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom, 

* It is firmly believed by the neiffhboiiring peasantry, that the 
last Baron of Franchemont rlcposited, ia.one of the vaults of the 
castle, a pmiHerous chest, containing an immense treasure in gold 
and silver, which, by some magic spell, was intrusted to the care 
of the devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the 
shape of a huntsman. Any one adventurous enough to touch the 
chest, is instantly seized with the palsy. Yet if any body can 
discover the mystic ■words used by tlie person who deposited 
the treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must instantly 
decamp. 



234 MARMION. lCANTO VI, 

Unless the Adept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell, 
When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
An hundred years are past and gene, 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from heaven. 
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 
Nor less the infernal summoning. 
May pass the monk of Durham's tale. 
Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail; 
May pardon plead for Fordun grave, 
Who told of Gilford's Goblin-Cave. 
But why such instances to ycu, 
Who, in an instant, can review 
Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
And furnish tAventy thousand more? 
Hoards, not like their's whose volumes rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest; 
"V^Taile gripple o^^^lers still refuse 
To others what they cannot use; 
Give them the priest's whole century. 
They shall not spell you letters three; 
Their pleasure in the book's the same 
The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
Thv volumes, open as thy heart. 
Delight, amusement, science, art, 
To every ear and eye impart; 
Yet who, of all who thus employ them, 
Can, like the ov^nier's self, enjoy them? — 
But, hark ! I hear the distant drum : 
The day of Flodden field is come.— 
Adieu, dear Heber! life and health. 
And store of literary wealth. 

CANTO SIXTH. 

ri&g Battle. 

1. 

While great events were on the gale, 
And each hour brought a varying tale, 



CAJN'TO VI.] MARMION. 

And the demeanour, changed and cold. 

Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold. 

And like the impatient steed of war. 

He snuffed the battle from afar; 

And hopes were none, that back again, 

Herald should come from Terouenne, 

Where England's King in leaguer lay, 

Before decisive battle-day; 

While these things were, the mournful Claxc 

Did in the Dame's devotions share : 

For the good Countess ceaseless prayed. 

To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 

And, wdth short interval, did pass 

From prayer to book, from book to mass. 

And all in high Baronial pride, — 

A life both dull and dignified; — 

Yet as iiord Marmion nothmg pressed 

Upon her intervals of rest. 

Dejected Clara well could bear 

The formal state, the lengthened prayer, 

Though dearest to her wounded heart, 

The hours that she might spend apart. 



I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er the margin of the deep, 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repelled the insult of the air, 

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky. 

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by 

Above the rest, a turret square 

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, 

Of sculpture mde, a stony shield; 

The Bloody Heart was in the field, 

And in the chief three mullets stood. 

The cognizance of Douglas blood. 

The turret held a narrow stair, 

Which, mounted, gave you access "where 

A parapet's embattled row 

Did seaward round the castle go ; 

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, 

Sometimes in platform broad extending, 



235 



236 MARMION. LCANTO VX 

Its varying circle did combine 

Bulwark, and bartisan, and line, 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 

Above tbe booming ocean leant 

The far-projecting battlement; 

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, 

Upon the precipice below. 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 

Gate- works, and walls, were strongly manned ; 

No need upon the sea-girt side; 

The steepy rock, and frantic tide. 

Approach of human step denied ; 

And thus these lines, and ramparts rude. 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 
And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there, 

And list the sea-bird's cry; 
Or slow, like noon-tide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwarks' side. 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, 
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane,- 
A home she might ne'er see again; 

For she had laid adown. 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade- 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow 
Again adorned her brow of snow; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders, round. 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the ground; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remained a cross with ruby stone; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she bore 
With velvet bound, and broidered o'er, 

Her breviar}' book. 



CANTO VI] MARMION. 

In such a place, so lone, so grim, 
At dawniug pale, or twilight dim. 

It fearful would have been. 
To meet a form so richly dressed. 
With book in hand, and cross on 1 

And such a woeful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. 
To practise on the gull and crow, 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow. 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some love-lorn Fay she might have been, 
Or, in romance, some spell-bound queen; 
For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 

A form so witching fair. 



Once -walking thus, at evening tide, 

It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 

And, sighing, thought — '■''The Abbess there, 

Perchance, does to her home repair; 

Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, 

"Walks hand in hand with Charity; 

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow. 

That the enraptured sisters see 

High vision, and deep mystery; 

The very form of Hilda fair, 

Hovering upon the sunny air, 

And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 

O! wherefore to my duller eye, 

Did still the Saint her form deny! 

Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn. 

My heart could neither melt nor burn? 

Or lie my warm affections low. 

With him that taught them first to glow?— 

Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew. 

To pay thy kindness grateful due. 

And well could brook the mild command. 

That ruled thy simple maiden band. — ■ 

How dllferent now ! condemned to bide 

My doom from this dark tyrant's pride.— 

But Marmion has to learn, ere long, 

That constant mind, and hate of wrong. 



237 



238 



COAMTOVl. 



Descended to a feeble girl. 

Prom Red De Claxe, stout Gloster's Karl: 

Of such a stem, a sapling weak, 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 



"But see! — ^what makes this annour here?^ 

For in her path there lay 
Targe, corslet, helm ; — she viewed them near. — 
"The breast-plate pierced! — Aye, much I fear. 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's speax,' 
That hath made fatal entrance here, 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corslet's ward. 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On you disastrous day 1" — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton himselt before her stood! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost ; 
And joy unwonted, and surprise, 
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes. — 
Expect not, noble dames and lords. 
That I can tell such scene in words : 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the rainbow's varying hues, 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? 

Far less can my weak line declare 
Each changing passion's shade; 

Brightening to rapture from despair, 

Sorrow, surprise, ana pity there. 

And joy, with her angelic air. 

And hope, that paints the future fair, 
Their varying hues displayed : 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending', 
Till all fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said,. 
By many a tender word delayed 



CANTO VL] MAR5II0N. 

And modest Husli, and bursting sigli, 
And question kind, and fond reply. 

VI. 

DE WILTON*S HISTOBT, 

"Forget -v^e that disastrous day, 

When senseless in the lists I lay. 

Thence dragged, — but how I cannot know. 
For sense and recollection fled, — 

I found me on a pallet low. 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed, 

Austin, — remember' st thou, my Clai'e, 

How thou didst blush, when the old man, 
TNTien first our infant love began, 

Said we would make a matchless pair? — . 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen Rod 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head, 
And tended me for many a day. 
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care. 
When sense returned to wake despair 
For I did tear the closing wound. 
And dash me frantic on the groimd. 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 

At length, to calmer reason brought, 

Much by his kind attendance wrought. 
With him I left my native strand. 

And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed. 

My hated name and form to shade, 
I journeyed many a land; 

No more a lord of rank and birth. 

But mingled vnth the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared. 

When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. 

Or wild mad schemes upreared. 

My friend at length fell sick, and said, 

God would remove him soon; 
And while upon his dpng bed. 
He begged of mo a boon — 



239 



240 MAR51I0N. [CAKTO VI 

If ere my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered He, 
Even then my mercy should awake, 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 



" Still restless as a second Cain, 

To Scotland next my rout was ta'en. 

Full well the paths I knew ; 
Fame of my fate made various sound, 
That death in pilgrimage I found. 
That I had perished of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true : 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his palmer's dress; 

For now that sable slough is shed, 

And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 
I scarcely know me in a glass. 
A chance most wond'rous did provide, 
That I should be that Baron's guidei — 

I will not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to God alone belongs; 
But, when I think on all my wrongs. 

My blood is liqiiid flame! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget. 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange: 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell 
Bat in my bosom mustered Hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 



"A word of vulgar augury. 

That broke from me, I scarce knew "why, 

Brought on a \nllage tale; 
WTiich wi-ought upon his moody sprite 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I borrowed steed and mail. 
And weapons, from his sleeping band; 

And, passing from a postern door. 
We met, and 'countered, hand to haad, — 

He fell on Cxifford-moor. 



CANTO VI.] MARMIOK. ' 

For the death-stroke my brand I drew, 
(O then my helmed head he knew, 

The Palmer's cowl was gone,) 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin staid ; 

I left him there alone. — 
O g^ood old man ! even from the grave. 
Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foemau, ne'er 
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her feax. 
Given to my hand this packet dear. 
Of power to clear niy injured fame, 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 

That broke our secret speech — 
It rose from the infernal shade. 
Or featly was some juggle playod, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best. 
When my name came among the rest. 

IX. 

" Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 

To Douglas late my tale I told. 

To whom my house was known of old. 

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 

This eve anew shall dub me knight. 

These were the arms that once did turn 

The tide of %ht on Otterbume, 

And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 

When the Dead Douglas won the lield. 

These Angus gave — his armourer's care, 

Ere mom, sh^l every breach repair ; 

For nought, he said, was in his halls. 

But ancient armour on the walls. 

And aged chargers in the stalls. 

And women, priests, and gray-haired men; 

Tlie rest were all in Twisell glen.* 

And now I watch my armour here, 

By law of axms, till midnight's near ; 

» Where James encamped before taking post on FloddfilV 



242 MARMIOX [CANTO VI, 

Then, once again a belted knight, 
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 



** There soon again we meet, my Clare 1 
This Baron means to ^ide thee there : 
Douglas reveres his king's command, 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil. 
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, 

Once more" " O, Wilton ! must we then 

Risk new-found happiness again. 
Trust fate of arms once more ? 
And is there not a humble glen, 
WTiere we, content and poor. 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A snepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor ? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know, 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel, 
And send thee forth to fame !" — 



That night, upon the rocks and bay. 
The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay. 
And poured its silver light, and pure. 
Through loop-hole, and through embrazuic, 

Upou Tantallon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was there need ; though, seamed with scars, 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 



CAXTO VI.J MAKJIION. 243 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held high. 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky ligltt. 
Chequering the silvery moon-shmo bright, 

A bishop by the altar stood,* 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white ; 

Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 

But little pride of prelacy : 

More pleased that, in a barbarous age 

He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page. 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood. 
Doffed his furred gown, and sable hood : 
O'er his huge form, and visage pale, 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand. 
Which wont, of yore, in battle-fray, 
His foeman's limbs to shred away. 
As wood-knife lops the sapling 8pray.+ 
He seemed as, from the tombs around 

Rising at judgment-day. 
Some giant Douglas may be found 

In ail his old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge hia limb. 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 

sen. 

Then at the altar "Wilton kneels. 
And Clare the spurs bound on hia heels ; 
And think what next he must have felt. 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

• The well-known Gawain Doaglao, Bishop of Dunkeld, ion of 
Archibald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of a Scot- 
tish metrical version of the iSlneid, and of many other poetical 
pieces of great merit. He had not at this period attained tho 
mitre. 

t Angus had strength and personal activity corresponding to hii 
courage. Sp^ns of Kilspindic a favourite of James IV., having 
spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and 
compelling him to single combat, at one blow cut asunder his 
thigh bone, and killed him on the spot. 



244 MAKMION. [CANTO VI 

And judge how Clara changed her hue, 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struck him with his hlade : 
"Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir I 
For king, for church, for lady fair, 

See that thou hght." — 
And Bishop (xawain, as he rose. 
Said, — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy wocs, 

Disgrace, and trouble. 
For He, who honour best bestows, 

May give thee double." — 
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brollier !" — 
"Nay, nay," old Angus said, "not so; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou meet' St them under shield. 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall him that blenches hrst T* 

XIII. 
Not far advanced was morning day. 
When Marmion did his troop aiTay 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe-conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, , 

And Douglas gave a guide : 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace. 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered, in an under tone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.'* 
The train from out the castle drew ; 
But Marn.ion stopp'd to bid adieu : — 

"Though snmething I might | lain," h'> r^\ 
" Of cold lespect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither by your king's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I staid : 



CAMTO VL] MAEMION. 

Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hani"— 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open at my sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer, 
My castles are my king's alone. 
From turret to foundation-stono — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion claap." 

XIV 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like lire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And — " This to me !' he said, — 
" An 'twere not for thy hoary beard. 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here. 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 

Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nay, never look upon your lord, 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, fax or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied P — 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
Overcame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth : — " And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?— 
No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no V — 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, Warder ho I 

Lt't the portcullis fall." — 



245 



246 MAR5II0N. [CANTO VT. 

Lord Marmion turned,— well was his need, 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like arrow through the arch- way sprung, 
The ponderous grate behind him rung : 
To pass there was such scanty room. 
The bars, descending, razed his plume.* 



The steed along the drawbridge flies, 

Just as it trembled on the rise ; 

Not lighter does the swallow skim 

Along the smooth lake's level brim : 

And when Lord Mamiion reached his band. 

He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 

And shout of loud defiance pours, 

And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 

••' Horse ! horse !" the Douglas cried, " and chase 1" 

But soon he reined his fury's pace : 

" A royal messenger he came, 

Though most unworthy of the name. — 

A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed 1 

Did ever knight so foul a deed ! 

At first in heart it liked me ill, 

When the King praised his clerkly skill. 

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine. 

Save Gawaiu, ne'er could pen a line : 



* This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not 
■without its example in the real liistory of the house of Douglas, 
Marlellaii, tutor of Boniby, having refused to acknouledge the 
pre-tniinence clKimed bv Douglas over the Bcirons of Galloway, 
was imprisoned by the Hiarl, in his castle of the Thrieve. Sit Pat- 
rick Gray, uncle to the tutor of Boiiiby, obtained from the King a 
" sweet letter of supplication,'" praying the Karl to delivt 



prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castle, 
he was received with all due honour; but while he was at dinner, 
the earl caused his prisoner to be led forth and belli aded. After 
dinner. Sir Patrick presented the kinji's letter to the Earl, who led 
him forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and 
said, " Sir Patrick, ynu are (Xinie a little too late; yonder is your 
sister's son lying, but he wants th<" head: take his body, and do 
with it what you will." Sir Patiiik answered again « ith a sore 
heait, iiid said, "My lord, if ve liave taken from him his head, 
disjxme upon the body as you please :" and with that called tor his 
horse, and when he was on horseback, he ssrd to the Karl, "My 
lord, if I 1 ve. you shall be rewarded tor your labo.irs, that you have 
used at tliis time, according to your demerits.' At this the Karl 
was highlyo: ended, and cried tor horse. Sii Patrick, s.-e-ng the 
Earl's fury, sptirred his horse, but he was chased near Ediubui^b 
ore they left him. 



CANTO VI.J MARMION. 247 

So swore I, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his till. — 
Saint Mary mend my tiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him ^vhere he etoovi.— 
'Tis pity of him, too," he cried; 
" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : 
I warrant him a warrior trit<L"— 
With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle balls. 

XVI. 
The day in Marmion's journey wor ; 
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, 
They crossed the heights of Stanrigg-moor 
His troop more closely there he scaund, 
And missed the Palmer from the band. — 
" Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth it was in strange array. " 
"In what array .^' said Maraiioi, ([uick. 
*' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clink and bang. 
Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
At da-svn the falling drawbridge rang, 
And from a loop-hole while I peep, 
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 
'\\'rapped in a gown of sables fair, 
As fearful of the morning air ; 
Beneath, when that w^as blown aside, 
A rusty shirt of mail I spied, 
By Archibald won in bloody work. 
Against the Saracen and Turk : 
Last night it hung not in the ball ; 
I thought some marvel would beML 
And next I saw them saddled lead 
Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed', 
A matchless horse, though something old- 
Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. 
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say, 
The Earl did much the Master* pray 
To use him on the battle-day ; 

^ Hia eldest son. the Master of 



248 MARMION. n 

But he preferred" — " Nay, Henry, cease ! 
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. 
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray, 
What did Blount see at break of day ?"— 



" In brief, my lord, we both descried 
(For I then stood by Henry's side) 
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride^ 

Upon the Earl's own favourite steed; 
All sheathed he was in armour bright. 
And much resembled that same knight 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight ; 

Lord Angus wished him speed," — 
The instant that Fitz- Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke ;— • 
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost !" 
He muttered ; " 'Twas not fay nor ghost, 
I met upon the moonlight wold. 
But living man of earthly mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross ! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust. 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — he told bis tale 
To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow.— 
Win Surrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ? 

Small risk of that I trow. — 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shan ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nim — 

what a tangled web we weave, 
When first we practise to deceive — 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 

1 felt rebuked beneath his eye : 

I might have known there was but one. 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.'' 



Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, 



CANTO VL] MARMION. 249 

Where Lennel's convent closed their march:* 
ClTiere now is left but one frail arch, 

Yet mourn thou not its ceils; 
Onr time a fair exchange has made; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells. 
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood, 
That e'er wore saudal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
And lodging for his train, and Clare. 
Next morn the Baron climbed the tower, 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamped on Flodden edge : 
The white pavilions made a show. 
Like remnants of the winter snow, 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement miglit descry. 

Amid the shifting lines: 
The Scottish host drawn out appears, 
For, Hashing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern sun-beam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending. 
Their Hank inclining, wheeling, bending, 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
The skilful Marmion well could know. 
They watched the motions of some foe, 
Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX, 

Even so it was : — from Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave BaiTnore-wood, their evening post. 
And heedful watched them as they crossed 

The Till by Twisel bridge.f 

« This -mis a Cistertian house of relision, now almost entirely 
demolished. It is -ituated near Coldstream, alm'>st opposite to 
CornhiU. and consequently very near to Flodden Field. 

i On the evening previous to'the memorable h:ittle of Flodden, 
Surrey's head-c(uarters were at Barmoor wood, and Kin^ James 
hold an inaccessible position on the ridge of F odrien hills, one of 
the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridse of Che\not. 
TheTUU a deep and slow riv^r, winded between the annies. Or 
the mormngof the 9th September, 1613, Suirey mai-ched in 

l2 



250 MARMION. [CANTO VI 

High sight it is, and haughty, while 
They dive into the deep defde; 
Beneath the cavemed cliff they fall. 
Beneath the castle's airy wall. 

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 
Troo"^p after troop are disappearing; 
Troop after troop their banners reaxing. 

Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pouring down the rocky den, 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim- wood glen. 
Standards on standards, men on men. 

In slow succession still, 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 

To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpefc-clang, 
Twisel! thy rocks deep echo rang; 
And many a chief of birth and rank. 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we sea 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 
Had then from many an axe its doom. 
To give the marching columns room. 

KX, 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow. 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggles through the deep defile? 
What checks the fiery soul of James.' 
Why sits that champion of the Dames 

Inactive on his steed, 
And sees, between him and his land. 
Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 

His host Lord Surrey lead? 

north-westerly direction, and, taming eastward, crossed the Till, 
with his van and artillery, at Twisel- bridge, nigh where that 
river joins the Tweed, his reai^guard column passing about a 
mile higher> by a ford. This movement had the double effect ot 
placing his army between King James and his supplies from 
bcotliind, and of striking the Scottish monarch with surprise, as 
De seems to have relied ou the depth of the river m his front. 



CANTO VI] MARMION. 251 

What vails the vain knight-errant's brand? — 
O, Douglas, for thy ]<-adiug wnud! 
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed! 
O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
Or well skilled Bruce, to rule the fight. 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right T* 
Another sight had seen that mom. 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
And Flodden had been Bannock-bourne! — • 
The precious hour has passed in vain. 
And England's host has gained the plain; 
Wheeling their march, and circling still. 
Around the base of Flodden-hill. 

XXI. 
Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz- Eustace shouted loud and high, — 
" Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum! 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill, 
Foot, horse, and cannon ; — hap what hap, 
Mv basnet to a 'prentice cap. 

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn shade. 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
"With all their banners bravely spread. 

And all their armour flashing high. 
Saint George might waken from the dead. 

To see fair England's standards fly." — 
"Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount; " thou'dst best, 
And listen to our lord's behest." — 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — 
" This instant be our band arrayed : 
The river must be quickly crossed. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust, 
That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." — 

XXII. 

Hhnself he swift on horseback throw, 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu : 



252 MARMION. lCANTO VI. 

Far less •would listen to liis prayer, 
To leave behind the helpless Clare, 
Down to the Tweed his baud he drew, 
And muttered, as the flood they view, 
" The pheasant i-n the falcon^s claw, 
He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, 

So Clare shall bide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, 
Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep, 

He ventured desperately ; 
And not a moment will he bide, 
Till squire, or groom, before him ride ; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide, 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
And, though far downward driven per force. 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them, straggling, came to shore, 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that every string. 
By wet unharmed, should shai-ply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion staid. 
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed. 

Then forward muved his band. 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won. 
He halted by a cross of stone. 
That, on a hillock standing lone, 

Did all the field command. 

XXIII. 

Hence might they see the full array 
Of either host, or deadly fray ;* 

* WTien the Enslish army, by theirsVilftil counter-march, Tcere 
fairly placed between King James and hi^ own country, the 
Scottish monarch resolved to fight; and, settins; fire to his tents, 
descended from the ridf;e of Klodden to seciire the neighbo-.i ring 
eminence of Brankstone, on which that village is built. Thus 
the two armies met, almost u-ithout seeing' each other. The 
English army advanced in four divisions. Wlien tne smoke was 
somewhat dispersed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved 
down the hill in a similar order of battle, and iu deep silence. 



CANTO VI.] MAIOIION. 253 

Their raarslialled lines stretched east and 'west, 

And fronted north and south, 
And distant sahitJition past 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattJo, 
That hreathes the voice of modem battle. 

But slow and far between. — 
The hillock gained, Lord Marmion staid : 
" Here, by this cross," he gently said, 

" You Avell may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
O ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — 
Thou wilt not.^ — well, — no less my care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
YoQ, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 

V^'iih ten picked archers of my train ; 
With England if the day go hard, 

To Berwick speed amain. — 
But, if we conquer, cruel maid ! 
My spoils shall at your feet be laid, 

vVneu here we meet again." — 
He waited not for answer there. 
And would not mark the maid's despair. 

Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire ; but spurred amain, 
And, dashing through the battle-plain. 

His way to Surrey took. 



" The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 

Welcome to danger's hour ! 
Short greeting serves in time of strife : — - 

Thus have I ranged my power : 
Myself will rule this central host, 

Stout Stanly fronts their right, 
Mv sons command the vaward post, 

^Vith Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ;* 

Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 

* Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic langnaffc of the 
timt, Tunstall the Undefi.«d, was one of the few Engirshtnen of 
rank slai i at FloJdcn. Perhrips he derived his epithet oi' undtjiled 
from his white armour and banner, as well as from his unstained 
loyalty and knightly fiiith. His place of residence was Thurland 
Castle. 



254 MARMION. [CANTO VI. 

Shall be in rear-ward of the fight, 
And succour those that need it most. 

No'w, gallant Marmion, well 1 know 

Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstal! there. 
With thee their charge will blithely share; 
There fight tliine own retainers too, 
Beneath De Burg, thy stew^ard true." — 
" Thanks, noble Suriy !" Marmion said, 
Nor further greeting there he paid ; 
But, parting like a thunderbolt, 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of " Marmion ! Marmion !" that the cry 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 

Startled the Scottish foes. 



Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill ; 
On which, (for far the day -was spent,) 
The western sunbeams now were bent. 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades view : 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
" Unworthy oiBce here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But, see ! look up — on Flodden bent, 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent." — 

And sudden, as he spoke, 
From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke; 
Volumed and vast, and rolling far, 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war. 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 
Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown, 

At times a stifled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-thi'one, 

King James did rushing come. — 



255 



Scarce could they hear, or see their foes. 
Until at weapon-point they close. — 
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, 
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; 

And such a yell was there, 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
Could in the darkness nought descry. 



At length the freshening western blast 
.iVside the shroud of battle cast ; 
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears ; 
And in the smoke the pennons flew, 
As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
Then marked they, dashing broad and far, 
The broken billows of the war. 
And plumed crests of chieftains brave, 
Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain 
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again. 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tvunult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly: 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white. 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright. 
Still bear them bravely in the fight ; 

Although against them come. 
Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
And many a stubborn Highlandman, 
And many a rugged Border clan. 

With Huntley, and with Home. 



Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke Lennox and AigyLe 5 



256 MARXUON. LC-^Jv^rO VL 

Thougfe there the western tcmmtjjneer 
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, 
And flung the feeble targe a iide, 
And with both hands the !)r>>a*i-s\vnrd plied: 
'Twas vain. — But Fortune, on Ih-i 'igbt, 
With fickle smile, cheered Scoiiaud's fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white, 

The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering tlight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry; 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, 

The peimon sunk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shi'ouds, and sail, 

It wavered raid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear : — 
" By heaven, and all its saints ! I swear, 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz- Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,— 

I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain. 
Followed by all the aicher train. 
The fiery youth, v-dth desperate charge, 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — - 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around. 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground, 

It sunk among the foes. 
Then Eustac* mounted too ; — yet staid, 
As loth to leave the helpless maid, 

"\Mien, fast as shaft can fly, 
Bloodshot hi.s eyes, his nostrils spread. 
The loose rein dangling from his head, 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
A look and sign to Clara cast. 
To mark he would return in haste. 
Then plunged into ilie fight. 



CAi>rro VL] 



257 



Ask me not what the maiden feels, 

Left in that dreadful hour alone : 
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 

Perchance a courage, not her own, 

Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
The scattered van of England wheels ; 

She only said, as loud in air 

The tumult roared, "Is Wilton there?" — 

They fly, or, maddened by despair, 

Fight but to die.—" Is Wilton there !" — 
"^i vith that, straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen drenched with gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken brand ; 
His ai-ms were smeared with blood, and sand • 
Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted shield, and helmet beat. 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . . 
Young Blount his armour did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face. 

Said — " By Saint George, he's gone ! 
That spear- wound has our master sped. 
And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good night to Marmion." — 
"Unnurtured Blount ! — thy brawling cease : 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace !" — 

XX IZ, 
When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
Around'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
"Where's Harry Blount.^ Fitz- Eustace where? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
Cry — ' Alarmion to the rescue !' — Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
Yet mv last thought is England's : — ^fly. 

To £)acre bear my signet-ring ; 

Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey liie : 



258 MAKAliON. 



[CANTO VI. 



Tunstall lies dead upon the field ; 

His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 

Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; — 

The Admiral alone is left. 

Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,- 

With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 

Full upon Scotland's central host, 

Or victory and England's lost. — 

Must 1 bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fiy ! 

Leave Marmion here alone — to die." — 

ITiey parted, and alone he lay ; 

Clare drew her fi-om the sight away, 

Till pain wi-ung forth a lowly moan. 

And half he murmured, — " Is there noac, 

Of all my halls have nurst, 
Page, squire, or gi'oom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water, from the spring. 

To slake my djdng thirst !" — 

XXX. 

O, -woman ! in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 
And variable as the shade 
By the light quivering aspen made ; 
When pam and anguish wring the brow 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears, 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's side. 

But in abhorrence backward drew 
For, oozing from the mountain wide. 
Where raged the war, a dark red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ! — behold her mark 

A little fountain-cell, 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark, 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half- worn letters say, 



CANTO VI.3 HAHMIOW. 259 

*' J3rinfe. tocarg. pilgrim, tirinfe. anti -prag. 
,ifov. tf)f. feint, eoihi. of ^vhil. ©rep. 

31.Bflo. built, r ^;.. r c s. anti tyrll." 
She tilled the helm, and back she hied. 
And with surprise and joy espied 

A Monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 



Deep drank Lord Marmion of the •wave, 
And, as she stooped his brow to lave — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
" Or injured Constance, bathes my head T 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
*' Speak not to me of shrift or prayer I 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !" — 

" Alas !"' she said, " the while, — 
O think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She died at Holy Isle. '— 

Lord Marmion started from the ground, 

As light as if he felt no wound ; 

Though in the action burst the tide, 

In torrents, from his wounded side, 

'■'• Then it was truth T' — he said — " I know 

That the dark presage must be true. — 

1 would the Fiend, to whom belongs 

The vengeance due to all her wrongs. 
Would spare me but a day ! 

For wasting fire, and dying groan, 

Ajid priests slain on the altar stone, 
Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
And doubly cursed my failing brand! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." — 
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk. 
Supported by the trembling Monk. 



260 T.IAR11I0N. [CANTO VI 



With fruitless labour, Clara bound, 

And strove to staunch, the gnifihlng -wound : 

The Monk, with unavailing cares. 

Exhausted all the Church's i)rayers ; 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear, 

And that the priesi he could not hear, 

For that she ever sung, 
" In tlie lost battle^ borne doicn by the flying^ 
Wlierc mingles tears rattle with groans of the dying /" 

So the notes rung; 
" Avoid thee, Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
O look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

O think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been, 
Aid many a sinner's parting seen, 

But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, 

And — SxANLiiY ! was the cry; — 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 
With dpng hand, above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted " Victoiy ! — 
" Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on !" , . . 
Were the last words of Marmion. 



By this, though deep the evening fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
For still the Scots, around theu- king, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing, 

Where Huntley, and where Home? — 
O for a blast of that dread horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

That to King Charles did cxime^, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer. 



CANTO VL] MAUMION. 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blast might -warn them, not in vain, 
To quit the plunder of the slain, 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

While yet on Flodden side, 
Afar, the Royal Standard tlies. 
And round it toils and bleeds and dies. 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away. 
While spoil and havoc mark their way, 
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
" O Lady,'" cried the Monk, "away !" — ■ 

And placed her on her steed ; 
And led her to the chapel fair, 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer. 
And, at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 



But as they left the dark'ning heath. 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English shafts in vollies hailed. 
In headlone charge their horse assailed : 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep. 
To break the Scottish circle deep, 

That fought around their king. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
Though bill-men plie the ghastly blow. 

Unbroken was the ring : 
The stubborn spearmen still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepping where his comrade stood, 

The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; — 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight. 
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, 

As fearlessly and well ; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 



£(]] 



2^2 



[CANTy VT 



And from the charge the}- drew. 
As mounuiu-waves, iVom -vvabied lands, 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen knoAV ; 
Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 
They melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow. 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 
While many a broken band, 
Disordered, through her currents dash, 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to down and dale. 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear. 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear. 

And broken was her shield ! 



Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one ; 
The sad survivors all are gone. — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle high 
Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
That, journeying tar on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And feJl on Flodden plain :* 

* There can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle of 
Flodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, within 
a lance's length of the Earl of Surrey ; and the same account adds, 
(iiat none of hia division were made prisoners, though many were 




H e s aw ttie -wreck his r asluie s 3 -wroiiglit : 
Reck].ess of life. lie desperate fought. 
And fell ott Flodden. plain: 



CA>lO VL] MARMIOX. 263 

And well in death his trusty brand, 
Firm clenched within hi.s maaly hand, 

Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But, O ! bow changed since yon blj-the night 1 — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight, 

Unto my tale again. 



Short is my tale : — Fitz- Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangled body bare 

To moated Lichheld's lofty pile ; 

And there, beneath the southern aislo, 

A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, 

Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. 

(Now vainly for its site you look ; 

'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook 

Th« fair cathedral stormed and took ;* 

But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chaxi, 

A guerdon meet the spoiler had !) 

Thero erst was martial ISIarmion found^ 

His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet cars-ed, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair, 
And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer. 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick w^oods, a peasant swain 
Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 

killed ; a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their resis- 
tance. The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports 
which passed among the vulgar of their day. Home was accused, 
by the popular voice, not only of failing to support the king, but 
even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered him. 
Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the king's fate, 
and averred, that Jam^ weary of greatness after the carnage 
among his nobles, had gone on a pUgrimage to merit absolution for 
the death of his father, ana the breach of liis Oith of amity to 
Henry. 

* This stonn of Lichfield cathedral, ^vhich had been garrisoned 
on the part of tiie king, took y))ace in tlie groat civil vrar. Lord 
Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded tlie assailants, was 
shot with a musket ball through the visor of his helmet. The 
royalists remarked, that ht *vas killed by a shot fired from Sr 
Chad's Cathedral, and upon St Chad's day, and receii-edhis death- 
wound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to sti»f 
tbo niiu of all the cathedrals in EngUnd. 



2G4 MAllMIOX. [( 

One of tliose flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " v.ede away :" 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
And dragged hiru to its foot, and died. 
Close by the noble ?iIamiion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the siain, 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Barotj's tomb, 
The Jowh'^ woodsman took the room. 



Less easy task it were, to show 

Lord Marmion s nameless grave, and low. 

They dug his grave e'en where he lay, 
But every mark is gone ; 

Time's wasting hand ha,s done away . 

The simple Cross of Sybil Cxrey, 
And broke her font of stone : 

But yet from out the little hill 

Oozes the slender springlet still. 
Oft halts the stranger there. 

For thence may best his curious eye 

The memorable field descr}' ; 
And shepherd boys repair 

To seek the water-flag and rush. 

And rest them by the hazel bush, 
And plait their garlands fair ; 

Nor dream they sit upon the grave. 

That holds the bones of Marmion brave.- — 
When thou shalt find the little hill, 
With thy heart commune, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong. 
Thou leftist the right path for the wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trode, 
Still led thee farther from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom, 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, " He died a gallant knight, 
With sword in hand, for England's right.'] 



I do not rhyme to that dull elf, 
Who cannot image to himself. 



CANTO VI.] MARMIO-V, 265 

That all through Flodden's dismal night, 

Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted him again ; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hewed. 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood: 

Unnamed by HoUinshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all ; 

That, after fight, his faith made plain. 

He won his rank and lands again ; 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden field. — 

Nor sing I to that simple maid, 

To whom it must in terms be said. 

That kin^ and kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara s constancy ; 

Who cannot, unless I relate. 

Paint to her mind the bridal's stato ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoka 

More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke : 

That blutf King Hal the curtain drew, 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw 5 

And afterwards, for many a day, 

That it was held enough to say, 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare I" 



To ThK KEADEn. 

Why then a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song. 

Unless to bid the gentles speed, 

Who long have listed to my rede ?* — 

To Statesmen grave, if sucn may deign 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit. 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twined by her he loves the best ; 

* Uped generally for tale, or discouroo. 



266 MARMION. [CANTO VI. 

To every lovely lady bright, 

What can I wish but faithful knight ? 

To every faithful lover too, 

What can I wish but lady true 1 

And knowledge to the studious sage ; 

And pillow soft to head of age. 

To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play, 

Light task, and merry holiday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good night. 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light ! 



THE 

LADY OF THE LAKE 

I^ SIX CANTOS 



TO THP. 

MOST NOBLE 

JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN, 

4c. SfC. ifC. 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 

The Scene of the fvlJoicing Poem is chiefly in the 
vicinity of Loch-Katrine, in the West Highlands of 
Perthshire. The time of action includes six days, and 
the transactions of each day occupy a Canto. 



THE 

LADY OF THE LAKE. 



CANTO FIRST. 

Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung 

On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring. 
And do-sNTi the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 

Till envious ivj did around thee cling, _ 

Muffling with verdant ringlet every string — 
Oh minstrel Hai-p ! still must thine accents sleep? 

Mid nistling leaves and fountains murmuring. 
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep. 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep? 
Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 

Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 

At each according pause, was heard aloud 
Thine ardent s)'mphony sublime and high! 

Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 
For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy 
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 

matchless eye. 
Oh wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
Oh wake once more ! though scarce my skill com- 
mand 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier la,y : 

Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away 
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 

Yet if one heart throb higher at its s-vray. 



270 THE I.ADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO 

The wizard note has not been touched in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, -wake again. 



The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 

Where danced the moon on Monan's rill. 

And deep his midnight lair had made 

In lone (jlenartney's hazel shade ; 

But, when the sun his beacon red 

Had kindled on Eenvoirlich's head, 

The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 

Resounded up the rocky way, 

And faint, from farther distance borne, 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

II. 

As chief who hears his warder call, 

" To arms ! the foemen storm the wall 1" 

The antler'd monarch of the waste 

Sprang from his heatheiy couch in haste. 

But, ere his fleet career he took. 

The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 

Like crested leader proud and high, 

Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 

A moment gazed adown the dale, 

A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 

A moment listened to the cry. 

That thickened as the chase drew nigh; 

Then, as the headmost foes appeared. 

With one brave bound the copse he cleared^ 

And, stretching forward free and far, 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

III. 

Yelled on the view the opening pack — 
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountam gave response. 
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered an hundred steeds along, 
■rheir p^'al the merry horns rang out. 
An hundred voices joined the fSiout; 



CANTO L] THE I.ADY OF THK LAKE. 271 

With hark, and whoop, and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe. 
Close in her covert cowered the doa, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till fai- beyond her piercing Ken, 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
Returned from cavern, cliff, and line. 
And silence settled, wide and still. 
On the lone Avood and mighty hilL 

IV. 

Less loud the sounds of s\'lvan war 
Disturbed the heights of tJam-Var, 
And roused the cavern where 'tis told 
A giant made his den of old ;* 
For ere tliat steep ascent was won. 
High in the pathway hung the sun. 
And many a gallant, stayed per-force. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
So shrewdly, on the mountain side. 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

V. 
The noble Stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
"WTiere broad extended far beneath, 
The vai-ied realms of fair Menteith. 
With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor. 
And pondered refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood grey 
That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold cliffs of Ben- venue. 

» Ua-var, or Uaighmiyr, is a mountain to the north- east of 
CaUendei-, Stirlinsr5.lure, Tlie name signifies agreat den or cavcni; 
and that sni;ill enclosure, ur recess referred to, is surrounded with 
Urge rocks, and open above head. It is situated on the south side, 
&nd is supposed by the old sportsoien in *hB neighbourhood, U) 
have been a toil for deer. 



272 THE LADY OP THE LIKE. [CANTO I 

Fresh vigour with the hope returned — 
With flying foot the heath he spurned, 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left behind the panting chase. 

VI. 
'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-moro : 
What reins were tightened in despair, 
When rose Benledi s ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath, 
Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith — 
For twice, that day, from shore to shore, 
The gallant Stag swam stoutly o'er. 
F'ew were the stragglers, following far. 
That reached the lake of Vennachar ; 
And when the Brig of Turk was won, 
The headmost Horseman rode alone. 

VII. 
Alone, but with unbated zeal. 
That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
For, jaded now, and spent with toil. 
Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, 
While every gasp with sobs he drew, 
The labouring Stag strained full in view. 
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed,* 
Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed. 
Fast on his flying traces came. 
And all but won that desperate game ; 
For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch. 
Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch ; 
Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 
Nor farther might the quarry strain. 
Thus up the margin of the lake. 
Between the precipice and brake, 
O'er stock and rock their race they take. 



The hunter marked that mountain high, 
The lone lake's western boundary, 

» Blood-hoimds bred by the Abbots of St Hubert, which were 
of remai'kable strength, swiftness, and keenness of sccut} and 
therefore greatly prized la hunting. 



CANTO I.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 273 

And deemed the Stag must turn to bay, 
Where that huge rampart barred the way ; 
Already glorj'ing in the prize, 
Measured his antlers with his ej-es ; 
For the death-wound, and death-halloo, 
Mastered his breath, his whiuyard drew;* 
Bat, thundering as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared. 
The wily quarry shunned the shock, 
And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dashing do%\Ti a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 
In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There while, close couched, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head. 
He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow j)ass amain, 
Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 



Close on the hounds the hunter came. 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labours o'er. 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more. 
Then, touched with pity and remorse. 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse : — 
" I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, m-y matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day. 
That costs thy life, my gallant greyl" 

X. 

Then through the dell his horn resounds, 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 

* When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter liad the 
perilous task of going in upon, cind killing or disabling the deeper' 
ate aninii'J. 

m2 



274 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANTO L 

Back limped, with slow and crippled paca. 
The sulky leaders of the chase : 
Close to their master's side they pressed, 
With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream, 
The eagles answered with their scream, 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seemed an answering blast ; 
And on the hunter hied his way, 
To join some comrades of the day ; 
Yet often paused, so strange the road. 
So wondrous were the scenes it showed. 



The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o'er the glen their level way ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed m floods of living firo. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below, 
Where twined the path, in shadow hid, 
Round many a rocky pyramid, 
Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; 
Round many an insulated mass, 
The native bulwarks of the pass, 
Huge as the tower which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 
Their rocky summits, split and rent, 
Formed turret, dome, or battlement. 
Or seemed fantastically set 
With cupola or minaret, 
Wild crests as pagod ever decked, 
Or mosque of eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-born castles bare. 
Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; 
For, from their shivered brows displayed, 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade. 
All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen, 
The briar-rose fell in streamers cnreen 



CANTO 11 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 275 

And creeping slirubs of thousand dyes, 
Waved in the -west-wind's summer sighs. 



Boon nature scattered, free and wild. 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
Here eglantine embalmed the air, 
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 
The primrose pale, and violet flower, 
Found in each clift a narrow bower ; 
Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side. 
Emblems of punishment and pride. 
Grouped their dark hues with every stain, 
The weather-beaten crags retain ; 
With boughs that quaked at every breath. 
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath ; 
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky 
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced. 
Where glistening streamers waved and danced. 
The wanderer's eye could barely view 
The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 

XIII. 

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet still and deep, 
Affording scarce such breadth of brim 
As served the wild-duck's hrood to swim; 
Lost for a space, through thickets veering. 
But broader when again appearing. 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
And farther as the hunter stray' d, 
Still broader sweep its channels made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer stood, 
Emerging from entangled wood. 



276 THE LADY OF THK LAKB. [^ CAN ft) L 

But, wave- encircled, seemed to float, 
Like castle girdled with its moat ; 
Yet broader floods extending still, 
Divide tliem from their parent hill, 
Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 

XIV. 
And now, to issue from the glen. 
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 
Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
A far projecting precipice.* 
The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 
The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 
And thus an airy point he won, 
Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 
One burnish'd sheet of living gold, 
Loch- Katrine lay beneath him rolled ; 
In all her length far winding lay. 
With promontory, creek, and bay. 
And islands that, empurpled bright. 
Floated amid the livelier light ; 
And mountains^ that like giants stand, 
To centinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, huge Ben-venue 
Down to the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, 
The fragments of" an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His . iiined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 



From the steep promontory gazed 
The Stranger, raptured and amazed ; 
And, ■•' ^^'llat a scene was here," he cried, 
" For princely jiomp or churchman's pride 
On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 
In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 

* Until the present road was made through this romantic pa«», 
there was no mode of issuing out of the detile railed the I'tosaoliH, 
except by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and umis «/ 
the uees. 



CANTO L] * THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 277 

On yonder meadow, far away, 

The turrets of a cloister grey. 

How blithely might the bugle horn 

Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn! 

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 

Chime, when the groves were still and mute ! 

And, when the midnight moon ahould lave 

Her forehead in the silver wave, 

How solemn on the ear would come 

The holy matin's distant hum, 

While the deep peal's commanding tone 

Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 

A sainted hermit from his cell. 

To drop a bead with every knell ! — 

And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 

Should each be^%-ildered stranger call 

To friendly feast, and lighted hall. 

XVI. 
" Blithe were it then to wander here ! 
But now — beshrew yon nimble deer ! — 
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 
The copse must give my evening fare; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy. 
Yet pass we that — the war and chase 
Give little choice of resting-place ; — 
A summer night, in green-wood spent, 
Were but to-morrow's merriment ; 
But hosts may in these wilds abound. 
Such as are better missed than found ; 
To meet wtth highland plunderers here 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer,* 
I am alone ; — my bugle strain 
May call some straggler of the train; 
Or, fall the worst that may betide, 
Ere now this falchion has been tried." 

XVII. 

But scarce again his horn he wound. 
When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 

* The clans in the neij^hboarhoDd of Loch Katrine, from theb 
proximity to the Lowlands, were among the most warlike and 
predatory ot the highlauJeis. 



278 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CAKTO I 

From undemeath an aged oak. 

That slanted from the islet rock, 

A damsel, guider of its -way, 

A little skitf shot to the bay. 

That round the promontory steep 

Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 

Eddying, in almost viewless wave. 

The weeping willow twig to lave; 

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 

The beach of pebbles bright as snoyr. 

The boat had touch'd this silver strand. 

Just as the hunter left his stand. 

And stood concealed amid the brake. 

To view this Lady of the Lake. 

The maiden paused, as if again 

She thought to catch the distant strain, 

With head up-raised, and look intent, 

And eye and ear attentive bent, 

And locks flung back, and lips apart, 

IJke monument of Grecian art. 

In listening mood, she seemed to stand 

The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIII. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 

A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 

What though the sun, with ardent fro'wn. 

Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown — 

The sportive toil, which, short and light, 

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright. 

Served too in hastier swell to show 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; 

What though no inile of courtly grace 

To measured mood had trained her pace — 

A foot more light, a step more ti-ue, 

Ne'er from the heath- flower dashed the dew ; 

E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head. 

Elastic from her airy tread : 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of the mountain tongue — 

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, 

The listener held his breath to hear. 



0A^'TO L] THE LADY OF THE L.i.KE. 279 

XIX. 
A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; 
Her satin snood, her silken plaid. 
Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such Avild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
Whose glosjy black to shame might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing ; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 
Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy. 
You need but gaze on EUen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true. 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast ; 
"WTiether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 
Or filial love was glowing there. 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer. 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the north. 
One only passion, unrevealed, 
With maiden pride the maid concealed. 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
Oh need I tell that passion's name? 



Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 

*' Father !" she cried — the rocks around 

Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 

A while she paused, no answer came — 

"Malcohn, was thine the blast?" the name 

Less resolutely uttered fell. 

The echoes could not catch the swell. 

" A stranger I," the Huntsman said. 

Advancing from the hazel shade. 

The maid alarmed, with hasty oar. 

Pushed her light shallop from the shore, 



280 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



[CANTO r. 



And, when a space was gained between. 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; ^ 
(So forth the startled swan would swing, 
So turn to prune his ruffled wing.) 
Then safe, though Muttered and amazed. 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to fly. 



On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 

Yet had not quenched the open truth, 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there. 

The will to do, the soul to dare. 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,' 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

For hardy sports, or contest bold; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed. 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed. 

He told of his benighted road : 

His ready speech floAved fair and free. 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy; 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland 

Less used to sue than to command. 



XXII. 
A while the maid the stranger eyed. 
And, reassured, at last replied, 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home, 
Before the heath had lost the dew, 
This morn, a couch was pulled for you ; 



CANTO I.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 281 

On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bledi. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 
To furnish forth your evening cheer." 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred," he said ; 
' No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 
My wa)', my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy land." 



*' I well believe," the maid replied. 

As her light skiff approached the side — 

" I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch- Katrine's shore ; '\ 

But yet, as far as yesternight. 

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight — j 

A grey-haired sire, whose eye intent 

Was on the visioned future bent.* 

He saw your steed, a dappled grey, 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way; 

Painted exact your form and mien. 

Your hunting suit of Lincoln green. 

That tassell'd horn so gaily gilt. 

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 

That cap with heron's plumage trim. 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 

He bade that all should ready be, 

To grace a guest of fair degree ; 

But light I held his prophecy. 

And deemed it was my father's horn. 

Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne. 

« A superstitious belief in second sight pre^-ailed in the Higl> 
Icinds : it was called iu Gaelic Tashitaraugh, from Taish, an un 
real or shadowy appearance ; and those possessed of the faculty arc 
called TaUhairin, which may be aptly translated visionariea 
They pretended to see visions, and to be informed of future event* 
which obtained for them an extraordinary influence over thoii 
countrymen. 



282 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, (;CANTO I. 
XXIV. 

The Stranger smiled : — '' Since to your home, 

A destined errant knight 1 come. 

Announced by prophet sooth and old, 

Dooaied, doubtless, for achievement bold, 

I'll lightly Iront each high emprize. 

For one liind glance of those bright eyes ; 

Pei-mit me, first, the task to g\iide 

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." 

The maid, with smile suppressed and sly 

The toil unwonted saw him try ; 

For seldom, sure, if e'er before. 

His noble hand had grasped an oar : 

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew. 

And o'er the lake the shallop Hew ; 

With heads erect and whimpering cry, 

The hounds behind their passage ply. 

Nor frequent does the bright oar break 

The darkening mirror of the lake, 

Until the rocky isle they reach, 

And moor their shallop on the beach. 

XXV. 
The Stranger viewed the shore around ; 
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain-maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road. 
That winded through the tangled screen, 
And opened on a narrow green. 
Where weeping birch and willow round 
With their long fibres swept the ground* 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.* 

XXVI. 

It was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device ; 

* In these turbulent times the Celtic chieftain had usnally some 
place of retreat tor the hour of necessity, which, as circumstances 
would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut in a strong 
and secluded situation. 



tJANTO L] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 283 

Of such materials, as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar ti-unks bared, 

And by the hatchet rudely squared, 

To gi v-e the walls their destined height, 

The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 

^V'hile moss, and clay, and leaves combined 

To fence er%ch crevice from the wind. 

The lighter pine-trees, over- head. 

Their slender length for rafters spread. 

And withered heath and rushes dry 

Supplied a russet canopy. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 

A rural portico was seen. 

Aloft on native pillars borne. 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The i\'y and Idsean vine. 

The clematis, the favoured flower, 

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower. 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch- Katrine's keen and searching air. 

An instant iu this porch she staid, 

And gaily to the stranger said, 

" On heaven and on thy lady call, 

And enter the enchanted hall !' 



" ]\Iy hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 

My gentle guide, in following thee." 

He crossed the threshold — and a clang 

Of angry steel that instant rang. 

To his bold brow his spirit rushed. 

But soon for vain alarm he blushed. 

When on the floor he saw displayed!. 

Cause of the din, a naked blade 

Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung 

Upon a stag's huge antlers swung; 

For all around, the walls to grace, 

Hung trophies of the fight or chase 

A target there, a bugle here, 

A battle-axe, a hunting spear. 



284 THK LADY OF THK LAKE. [CANTO t 

And broad-swords, boAvs, and arrows store, 
With the tusked trophies of the boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild- cat's brindled hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns. 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 
Pennons and flags defaced and stained, 
That blackening streaks of blood retained, 
And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and whito, 
With otter's fur and seal's unite, 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all, 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 

XXVIII. 

The wondering Stranger round him gazed, 

And next the fallen weapon raised ; 

Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 

Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. 

And as the brand he poised and swayed, 

" I never knew but one," he said, 

" Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield 

A blade like this in battle field," 

She sighed, then smiled and took the word ; 

" You see the guardian champion's sword : 

As light it trembles in his hand. 

As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 

My sire's tall form might grace the part 

Of Ferragus, or Ascabart ;* 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 
The mistress of the mansion camo. 
Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 
Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court. 
To whom, though more than kindred knew. 
Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 
Meet welcome to her guest she made, 
And every courteous rite was paid, 

* The first of these eiants is well known to the admirers of 
ArioBto, by the name of Ferrau He was an antagonist of Orlando, 
and was slain by him in single combat. Ascapart, or Ascabart, 
makes a very material figure ui the History of Bevis of Hampton' 
by whom he was conquered. 



CANTO I.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 285 

That hospitality could claim, 

Though all unasked his birth and name.* 

Such then the reverence to a guest. 

That fellest foe might join the feast. 

And from his deadliest foeman's door 

Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er. 

At length his rank the Stranger names — 

"■ The knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James; 

Lord of a barren heritage, 

Which his brave sires, from age to age. 

By their good swords had held with toil ; 

His sire had fallen in such turmoil, 

And he, God wot. was forced to stand 

Oft for his right with blade in hand. 

This morning with Lord Moray's train 

He chased a stalwart stag in vain. 

Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer, 

Lost his good steed, and wandered here." 

XXX. 

Fain would the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire ; 
"Well showed the elder lady's mien, 
That courts and cities she had seen ; 
Ellen, though more her looks displayed 
The simple grace of sylvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Sho ved she was come of gentle race ; 
'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
ESCh hint the ICnight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame INIargavet heard with silence grave ; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay, 
Turned all inquiry light away. 
" Wierd Avomen we ! by dale and down, ' 
We dwell afar from tower and toAvn. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast, 
. On wandering knights our spells we cast ; 

* This refers to the practice which existed of never asking a 
straneer his name or lineage, before he had taken refreshment; 
(.s the feuds which were so frequent among them, might have ex- 
cluded the guest from the beiietit ot the assistance he otood in 
Deed of, if a contrary rule had been allowed. 



286 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO I. 

Wtile viewless minstrels touct the string, 
'Tis thus our charmed rhjTnes we sing." 
She sang, and still a harp imseen 
Filled up the symphony between.* 



SONG. 
" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall, 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, 
Faiiy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Mom of toil, nor night of waking. 

" No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here. 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 

She paused — then, blushing, led the lay 
To grace the stranger of the day ; 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song. 
Till to her lips in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous camo. 

* The highlantlers delighted much in music, and harpers vrere 
received as welcome guests, in me highlands of Scotland, until 
the end of the sixteenth centiuy. 




m 







^^'■ 



The -ballAvas cleared- tke st£;aigeTs ied 
Was there of mo^^TLteiIl leather spread, 
^kei-e nft a hun-dTcd gTxests kadlfiin, 
And drecmxed their forest sports agam. 



CANTO I.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 287 

SONG — continved. 
'* Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 

While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun. 

Bugles here shall sound reveille. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep I thy hounds are by thee lying ; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen. 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 
Think not of the rising sun. 
For at dawning to assail ye. 
Here no bugles sound reveille." 



The hill was cleared— the Stranger's bed 

Was there of mountain heather spread, 

Where oft an hundred guests had lain, 

And dreamed their forest sports again. 

But vainly did the heath-flower shed 

Its moorland fragi-ance round his head ; 

Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest 

The fever of his troubled breast. 

In broken dreams the image rose 

Of varied perils, pains, and woes 

His steed now flounders in the brake, 

Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 

Now leader of a broken host, 

His standard falls, his honour's lost. 

Then — from my couch may heavenly might 

Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 

Again returned the scenes of youth, 

Of confident, undoubting truth ; 

Again liis soul he interchanged 

With friends whose hearts were long estranged ; 

They come, in dim procession led. 

The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 

As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 

As if they parted yesterday. 

And doubt distracts him at the view,— 

Oh, were his senses false or true '. 



288 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CA?s'TO I 

Dreamed he of death, or broken vow, 
Or is it ail a vision now ! 



At length, vnth Ellen in a grove. 

He seemed to walk, and speak of love ; 

She listened with a blush and sigh ; 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded liand to clasp, 

And a cold gauntlet met nii grasp ; 

The phantom's sex was cliauged and gone, 

L'pou its head a helmet shoue ; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size, 

With darkened cheek and threatening eyes. 

The grisly visage, stern and hoar, 

To Ellen still a likeness bore. 

He woke, and, panting with affright. 

Recalled the vision of the night. 

The hearth's decaying brands were red, 

And deep and dusky lustre shed. 

Half showing, half concealing all 

The uncouth trophies of the hall. 

Mid those the stranger fixed his eye 

Where that huge falchion hung on high. 

And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, 

Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, 

Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 



The wild rose, eglantine, and broom. 
Wafted around their rich perfume ; 
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm, 
The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 
The silver light, with quivering glance, 
Played on the water's still expanse — 
Wild were the lieart whose passion's sway 
Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 
He felt its calm, that warrior guest. 
While thus he communed with his breast :- 
" Why is it at each turn I trace 
Some memory of that exiled race ? 



CANTO II.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 289 

Can I not mountain maiden spy. 
But she must bear the Douglas eye? 
Can I not view a highland brand, 
But it must match the Douglas hand? 
Can I not frame a fevered dream, 
But still the Douglas is the theme ? — 
I'll dream no more — by manly miud 
Not even in sleep is will resigned. 
My midnight orison said o'er, 
I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 
His midnight orison he told, 
A prayer with every bead of gold, 
Consigned to heaven his cares and woes, 
And sank in undisturbed repose ; 
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, 
And morning dawned on Ben-venue, 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

At mom the black-cock trims his jetty wing, 

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blythest lay. 
All nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life revinng, with reviving day; 

And while yon little bark glides down the bay, 
Wafting the stranger on his way again. 

Morn's genial intluence roused a Minstrel grey,* 
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, 
Mix'd w-ith the sounding harp, oh white-haired Allan- 
bane ! 

II. 

SONG. 

'* Not faster yonder rowers' might 
Flings from their oars the spray, 

• HighUnd chieftains, tn a late period, retained in their service 
the b-ii-il, as a family ofificer. The bard was the histDrian and 
genealogist of the claji, besides being tea domestic mu&iciau of the 
chief, aud sometimes the preceptor of the 3 oung laird. 
N 



290 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO 11 

Not faster yonder rippling brigtt, 

That tracks the shallop's course in light, 

Melts in the lake away, 
Than men from memory erase 
The benefits of former days ; 
Then, Stranger, go ! good speed the •while, 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 
" ITJph place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battled line. 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
"Where Beauty sees the brave resort. 

The honoured meed be thine ! 
True be thy sword, thy triend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 
And lost in love's and friendships smile, 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 

III. 

SONG — continued. 

" But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam, 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh. 
And simken cheek and hea^^- eye, 

Pine for his highland home ; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ; 
Remember then thy hap ere while 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

" Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed. 
On thankless courts, or friends estranged. 
But come where kindred worth shall smib 
To greet thee in the lonely isle." 



A3 died the sounds upon the tide. 
The shallop reached the main-land side, 



C.^XTO 11.] ^^^ I-*^I>r OF THE LAKE. 291 


And ere his onward -way he took. 


The Stranger cast a lingering look. 


A^Tiere easily his eye might reach 


The Harper on the islet beach, 


Reclined against a blighted tree, 


As wasted, grey, and worn as he. 


To minstrel meditation given. 


His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 


As from the rising sun to claim . 


A sparkle of inspiring flame. 


His hand, reclined upon the wire, 


Seemed watching the awakening fire ; 


So still he sate, as those who wait ] 


Till judgment speak the doom of fate ; 'l 


So still, as if no breeze might dare '! 


To lift one lock of hoary hair ; j 


So still as life itself were fled, \ 


In the last sound his harp had sped. 

'^' 1 
Upon a rock with lichens wild, | 


Beside him Ellen sate and smiled, | 


Smiled she to see the stately drake | 


Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, ^ 


AVhile her vexed spaniel, from the beachj 


Bayed at the prize beyond his reach ? 


Yet tell me then the maid who knows, 


Why deepened on her cheek the rose ?— 


Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! ^ 


Perchance the maiden smiled to see 


Yon parting lingerer wave adieu. 


And stop and turn to wave anew ; 


And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 


Condemn the heroine of my lyre. 


Show me the fair would scorn to spy. 
And prize such conquest of her eye f 


VI. 

While yet he loitered on the spot. 


It seemed as Ellen marked him not. 


But when he turned him to the glade, 


One courteous parting sign she made; 


And after, oft the knight would say, 


That not when prize of festal day 





292 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO H, 

Was dealt him by tlie brigLtest fair, 

Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 

So highly did his bosom swell, 

As at that simple mute farewell. 

Now with a trusty mountain gnide, 

And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 

He parts — the maid, unconscious still, 

Watched him wind slowly round the hill ; 

But when his stately form was hid, 

The guardian in her bosom chid — 

" Thy Malcolm ! vain and seltish maid !" 

'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said ; 

" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 

On the smooth phrase of southern tongue ; 

Not so had Malcolm strained his eye 

Another step than thine to spy." 

" Wake, Allan-bane !" aloud she cried, 

To the old Minstrel by her side, 

" Arouse thee from thy moody dream I 

I'll give thy harp heroic theme. 

And warm thee with a noble name ; 

Pour foith the glory of the CTra?me."* 

Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 

When deep the conscious maiden blushed. 

For of his clan, in hall and bower. 

Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower. 



The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 
Arose the well-known martial chimes, 
And thrice their high heroic piide 
In melancholy munnurs died. 
" Vainly thou bidd'st, oh noble maid P 
Clasping his withered hands, he said, 
"Vainly thou bidd'st me wake the strain. 
Though all unwont to bid in vain. 

* This ancient anH powerful family held extensive por.se555ona 
in the roumies of n-iMlKirtim anil Siirliiig. Few tainilieh cau b<-aot 
of more hititoriral renown, having claim to three of (ht- most re- 
markable ch.rLulers in the Scotti'.-h annals. Sir J.ihn l!ie Gra'ine, 
thefaitliful ami undaunted oompairiot ot Wallace, who fell in the 
unfortunalL field of Kalkirk, in 12!-8. The celebrated Marquis of 
Montrose, in whom De Ketz saw realized his abstract idea of the 
heroes of ajitiqnity. And, John Grahame of Claverhouse, Viscount 
of Dundee, who fell in the arms of victory. 



CANTO II.] THE LADY OF lUE LAKE. 293 

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned ; 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of woe ; 

And the proud march which victors tread, 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 

Oh well for me, if mine alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 

If, as my tuneful fathers said. 

This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed. 

Can thus its master's fate foretell. 

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell ! 

VIII. 

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed 

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 

And such the sounds which, while I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth. 

Appalling me who gave them birth. 

And, disobedient to my call. 

Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered ball, 

Ere Douglases to ruin driven. 

Were exiled from their native heaven.* 

Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe 

My master's house must undergo. 

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, 

Brocd in these accents of despair. 

No future bard, sad harp ! shall fling 

Triumph or rapture from thy string; 

One short, one final strain shall flow. 

Fraught with unutterable woe, 

Then shivered shall thy fragments lie. 

Thy master cast him doANTi and die." 

* The dowTifall of the Douglases of the house of Angus, during 
the leigii of James V. 1528, is the event alluded to iu tlie test. 
TlTie Earl of An^s, had married the queen Dowager, and availing 
himself of the right which ho thus acquired, as well as of his ex- 
tensive power, he retained the king iu a sort of tutelage, which 
app/oached very near to capti Wty. This treatment so exasperated 
the youthful and chivalrous king that when he effected his escape 
to Stirling Castle, he swore in his anger — that no Douglas should, 
while he lived and reigned, find favourer countenance in Scotland 
— and he followed out Lis revenge, with such an inveterate hatred, 
that even their nearest triends, in the remotest parts of Scotland 
durst not entertain them unless under the strictest and closest 
disguise. 



294 THE LADY OF THE LAKK [CANTO It. 



Soothing she answered him, " Assuage, 

Mine honoured friend, the fears of age ; 

Ail melodies to thee are known, 

That harp has rung, or pipe has hlown, 

In lowland vale, or highland glen. 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. 

At times, unbidden notes should rise, 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties. 

Entangling, as they rush along. 

The war- march with the funeral song ? 

Small ground is now for boding fear ; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sire, in native virtue great. 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 

Not then to fortune more resigned. 

Than yonder oak might give the wind; 

The graceful foliage storms may reave, 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 

For me" — she stooped, and, looking round, 

Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground, 

" For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days. 

This little flower, that loves the lea, 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 

That in the King's own garden grows, 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreathed in her dai-k locks, and smiled. 



Her smile, her speech, with winning S'way, 
Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw 
When angels stoop to soothe their woe, 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied : — 
" Loveliest and best ! thou little know'st 
The rank, the honours thou hast lost 1 



CANTO a] THE LADY OF THK LAKE. 295 

Oh miglit I live to see thee grace, 

In Scotland's court, thy birthright place, 

To see my favourite's step advance, 

ITie lightest in the courtly dance, 

The cause of every gallant's sigh. 

And leading star of every eye. 

And theme of every minstrel's art, i 

ITie Lady of the Bleeding Heart 1"* 

XI. 

""Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, 
(Light vras her accent, yet she sighed,) 
" Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy; 
Nor woiild my footstep spring more gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey. 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine ; 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye. 
Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say, 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride. 
The terror of Loch- Lomond's side, 
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day." 

XII. 
The ancient bard his glee repressed : 
" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 
For who, through all this western wild. 
Named black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled ? 
In Holy- Rood a knight he slew ;+ 
I saw, when back the dirk he di"ew. 
Courtiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide ; 
And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 

* The well-known coqiiizance of the Dougrlas family, 

+ This was no uncnnimon occurrence in the court of Scotland; 

and even the royal pre-ence scarcely restrained the ferocious feud? 

-thicli were the perpetual source of bloodshed amoner the Scottish 

nobility. 



296 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [C.miX» IL 

Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day. 

That I such hated truth should say — 

The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 

Disowned by every noble peer. 

Even the rude refuge we have here 

Alas, this wild marauding chief 

Alone might hazard our relief, 

And now thy maiden charms expand, 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 

Full soon may dispensation sought. 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 

Then, though an exile on the hill, 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear. 

But though to Roderick thou'rt so dear, 

That thou might'st guide with silken thread 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 

Yet, oh loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! 

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 



" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 
" My debts to Roderick's house I know : 
All that a mother could bestow. 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe. 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed o'er her sister's child 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 
My blood, mj^ life — but not my hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronan's cell;* 
Rather through realms beyond the sea. 
Seeking the world's cold charity, 
A^Tiere ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, 

* The parish of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch" 
Lomond, derives its name from a cell or chapel, dedicated to Saint 
Maronoch, or Maronan, about whose sanctity very littlo -'s now 
remembered. 



CA>'TO 11.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 297 

An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 



"Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses grey--" 

That pleading look, what can it say 

But what I own? — I grant him biave, 

But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave;* 

And generour- — save vindictive mood. 

Or jealous transport chafe his blood : 

I grant him true to friendly band. 

As his cla\-more is to his hand : 

But oh ! tliat ver}' blade of steel 

More mercy for a foe would feel: 

I grant him liberal, to fling 

Among his clan the wealth they bring, 

^Vhen back by lake and glen they wind, 

And in the Lowland leave behind, 

"Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 

A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 

The hand, that for my father fought, 

I honour, as his daughter ought ; 

But can I clasp ic reeking red. 

From peasants slaughtered in their shed? 

No ! wildly while his virtues gleam, 

They make his passions darker seem, 

And flash along his spirit high. 

Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 

While vet a child — and children know. 

Instinctive taught, the friend and fo© — 

1 shuddered at his brow of gloom. 

His shadowy plaid, and sable plume ; 

A maiden grown, I ill could bear 

His haughty mien and loi-dly air ; 

But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 

Tn serious mood, to Roderick's name, 

I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 

A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 

To change such odious theme were best — 

What think'st thou of our stranger guest .^^ 

• This is a beautiful cascade made at a place called the Brid^ ot 
Bracklinn, by a mountain stream called the Keltie, about amib; 
Crom th3 village of Callander, in Menteith. 
K 2 



298 TUE LA.DV OK THE LAKE. [.CANIW H, 

XV. 

"• What think I of him ? — woe the while 

That hrought such wanderer to our isle 1 

Thy fatlier's battle-brand, of yore 

For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,* 

What time he leagued, no longer foes, 

His Border spears with Hotspur's bows. 

Did, self unscabbarded, foreshow 

The footstep of a secret foe.'f' 

If courtly spy, and harboured here, 

What may we for the Douglas fear? 

What for this island, deemed of old 

Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ? 

If neither spy nor foe, I pray 

What yet may jealous Roderick say ! 

— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head ! 

Bethink thee of the discord dread, 

That kindled when at Beltane game, 

Thou ledd'st the danco with Malcolm Grasmo; 

Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, 

Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 

Beware !— But hark, v/hat sounds are these ? 

My dull ears catch no faltermg breeze, 

No weeping birch, nor aspens wake. 

Nor breath is dimpling in the lake. 

Still is the canna'sj hoary beard, 

Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard, 

And hark again ! some pipe of war 

Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 

XV r. 

Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide. 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four manned and masted barges grew, 

* Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so nnfort;mate in 
all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tinesean, be- 
cause ho lined or lost his followei-s iii every battle which he fought. 
He M'as made prisoner by Hotspur in the bloody battle of Homil- 
don-hill near Wooler, and' heafter-.vards fell at the battle of Verueuil 
with the flower of the Scottish chivalry, then serWug as auxiliaries 
in France, and about two thousand common soldiers, A.D. 1424. 

+ It was a superstitious belief, that enchanted swcrda p^ 
thp power of leaping out of their scabbards, to iuJicato the i 
of an enemy. 

1 Cotton-grass 



CANTO IL] THE LADY OF TUE LAKE. 

And bearing do-s%Tiwards from Glengyle, 

Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 

The point of Brianchoil they passed. 

And, to the ^^nndward as they cast. 

Against the sun they gave to shine 

The bold Sir Roderick's bannered pine. 

Nearer and nearer as they bear, 

Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. 

Now might you see the tartans brave, 

And plaids and plumage dance and -nave; 

Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 

As his tough oar the rower plies ; 

See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 

The wave ascending into smoke ; 

See the proud pipers on the bow, 

And mark the gaudy streamers flow 

From their loud chanters* down, and sweep 

The furrowed bosom of the deep, 

As, rushing through the lake amain. 

They plied the ancient Highland strain. 



Ever, as on they bore, more loud 

And louder rung the pibroch proud."]* 

At first the sounds, by distance tame, 

Mellowed along the waters came, 

And, lingering long by cape and bay, 

Wailed ever}' harsher note away ; 

Then, bursting bolder on the ear, 

The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; 

Those thrilling sounds, that call the might 

Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight. 

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 

The mustering hundreds sbake the glen, 

And, hurrying at the signal dread, 

The battered earth returns their tread. 



* The drone of the bagpipe. 

+ The connoisseurs iu pipe-music affect to discover in a well- 
composed pibroch, the imitative sounds of march, conflict, flight, 
pursuit, and all the "current of a heady fight." It began with a 
grave motion, resembling a march ; then gradually quickened into 
the onset ; ran off with noisy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, to 
imitate the conflict and pursuit ; then swelled into a few flourishes 
of triumphant joy; and perhaps dosed with the wild and bIov/ 
wailiiigs of a funeral procession. 



300 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. tCAUTO H 



Then prclr.de light, of livelier tone, 
Expressed their merry marching on, 
Ere peal of closing battle rose, 
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows 5 
And mimic din of stroke and ward, 
As broad-sword upon target jarred ; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again. 
Condensed, the battle yelled am.ain ; 
The rapid charge, the rallying shout, 
Retreat borne headlong into rout, 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan- Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow, 
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, 
And changed the conquering clarion swell, 
For wild lament o'er those that fell. 



The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and Mil 
Were busy with their echoes still : 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, 
While loud an hundred clansmen raise 
Their voiced in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar, 
With measured sweep the burthen bore. 
In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
Makes through December's lealiess trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho ! iro !" 
And near, and nearer as they rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 



BOAT SONG. 
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances ! 

Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine ! 
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances. 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line I 
Heaven send it happy dew, 
Earth lend it sap anew. 
Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow. 
While eveiy highland glen 



CANTO IL] THE LADY OF THK L\KE. 301 

Sends our shout back agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"* 
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain. 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the 

mountain. 
The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 

Moored in the rifted rock, 

Proof to the tempest's shock, 
Firmer he roots him the rader it blow; 

jNIenteith and Breadalbane, then, 

Echo his praise agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe 1" 



Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, 
And Banachar s groans to our slogan replied; 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch- Lomond lie dead on her side."! 
Widow and Saxcn maid 
Long shall lament our raid. 
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ; 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they, hear agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine 1 
Qh ! that the rose-bud that graces ye*:! islands. 

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine ! 

* Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly 
used ill his intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highland chief 
had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the 
clan, and commonly another peculiar loliimself, which distinguish- 
ed liini from the chieftains of the same race. This was sometimes 
derived from complexion, as dhu or roy ; sometimes from size, as 
beo or more; at other times, from some p irtifular exploir, or from 
seme peculiarity of habit or appearance. The line ot the text 
lUerefore signifies, 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

+ Tho Lennox, as the district is called which encircles the lower 
extremity of Loch-Loinond, was peculiarly exposed to the incur- 
gio:is of the mountainnevs who inhabited the iiuiccessible fastnesses 
at the upper end of the lake, and the neighbourini; district of Loch- 
Katrine. These were often n&arked by circumstances of great 
ferocity. 



302 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [OANTO ]i 

Oh that some seedling gem, 

Worthy such noble stem, 
Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow? 

Loud should Clan- Alpine then 

Ring from her deepmost glen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dliu, ho I ieroe I" 



AVith all her joyful female band, 

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 

Loose on the breeze their tresses liew. 

And high their snowy arms they threw, . 

As echoing back with shrill acclaim 

And chorus wild the chieftain's name ; 

While, prompt to please, Avith mother's art, 

The daiiing passion of his heart, 

The Dame called Ellen to the strand, 

To greet her kinsman ere he land ; 

" Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou, 

And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?" 

Reluctantly and slow, the maid 

The unwelcome summoning obeyed, 

And, when a distant bugle rung. 

In the mid-path aside she sprung : 

" List, Allan-bane ! from mainland cast, 

I hear my father's signal blast. 

Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide. 

And waft him from the mountain side." 

Then, like a sunbeam swift and bright, 

She darted to her shallop light. 

And, eagerly while Roderick scanned. 

For her dear form, his mother's band. 

The islet far behind her lay. 

And she had landed in the bay. 

XXII. 

Some feelings are to mortals given, 

With less of earth in them than heaven; 

And if there be a human tear 

From passion's dross refined and clear 

A tear so limpid and so meek, 

It would not stain an angel's checlc. 



CANTO no THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

'Tis that -whicli pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
And as the Douglas to his breast 
His darling Ellen closely pressed, 
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd, 
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd. 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
Marked she, that fear (affection's proof) 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; 
No ! not till Douglas named his name, 
Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. 

XXIII. 

Allan, with wistful look the while. 

Marked Roderick landing on the isle; 

His master piteously he eyed. 

Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride, 

Then dashed, with hasty hand, away 

From his dimmed eye the gat'nering spray; 

And Douglas, as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 

" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistening eye? 

I'll tell thee : — he recalls the day, 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, 

While many a minstrel answered loud, 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone. 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As mighty as yon chief may claim. 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all that marshalled crowd, 

Though the waned crescent owned my might. 

And in my train trooped lord and knight, 

Though Blantyre h\-mned her holiest lays. 

And Bothwell's bards Hung back my praise. 

As when this old man's silent tear. 

And this poor maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true 

Than aught my better fortunes knew. 



303 



304 THE TJLTJY OF THE LAKE. [CAT'ITO IL 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast ; 
Oh ! it out-beggars all I lost !" 



Delightful praise ! — like summer rose, 
That" brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared — 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm beiixi 
The Hush of shame-faced joy to bide, 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide : 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid | 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favourite stand, 
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
And trust, while in such guise she stood^ 
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood, 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught, 
Well might the lover's judgment fail, 
To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he stole. 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 



Of stature fair, and slender frame. 

But firmly knit, was Malcolm Grceme. 

The belted plaid and tartan hose 

Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; 

His flaxen hair, of sunny hue. 

Curled closely round his bonnet blue ; 

Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 

The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heatk, 

He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; 

Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 

^\ hen Malcolm bent his sounding bow. 

And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, 

Outstrip[)ed in speed the mountaineer; 

Right up Ben- Lomond could he press, 

iVud not a sob his toil confess 



CA>'TO IT.] THE LAPY OP THE LAKR, 305 

Ilis form accorded with a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A blither heart, till Ellen came, 
Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
It danced as lightsome in his breast, 
As played the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. 
And bards, who saw his features bold, 
When kindled by the tales of old. 
Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 
Not long should Roderick Dhu's reno^vTl 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame. 
But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. 



Now back they wend their watery way. 
And, " Oh my sire !" did Ellen say, 
"Why urge thy chase so far astray.^ 
And why so late returned? And why" — 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
'' My child, the chase I follow'far, 
'Tis mimicr}' of noble war ; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade. 
Nor strayed I safe ; for, all around. 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. 
This youth, though still a royal ward. 
Risked life and land to be my giiard, 
And through the passes of the wood 
Guided my steps not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen. 
Nor peril aught for me agen." 



Sir Roderick, who to meet them came. 
Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
Yet, nor in action, word, or eye, 
Failed aught in hospitality. 



306 THE LADY OF THE I,AKE, [CANTO II. 

In talk and sport they wliiled av/ay 

The morning of that summer day; 

But at high noon a courier lij^ht 

Held secret parley with the l^night, 

Whose moody aspect soon declared, 

That evil were the news he heard. 

Deep thought seemed toiling in his head ; 

Yet was the evening banquet made, 

Ere he assembled round the flame. 

His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme 

And Ellen too ; then cast around 

His eyes, then fixed them on the ground. 

As studying phrase that might avail 

Best to convey unpleasant tale. 

Long with his dagger's hilt he played. 

Then raised his haughty brow, and said : — 



" Short be my speech ; nor time afTords, 

Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 

Kinsman and father — if such name 

Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 

Mine honoured mother ; Ellen — why, 

My cousin, turn away thine eye? 

And Graeme ; in whom I hope to know 

Full soon a noble friend or foe. 

When age shall give thee thy command. 

And leading in thy native land — 

List all ! The King's vindictive pride 

Boasts to have tamed the Bordei-side, 

Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 

To share their monarch's sylvan game. 

Themselves in bloody toils were snared. 

And when the banquet they prepared, 

* In 1529, James V., determined to extirpate the Border robbcro. 
who, during his minority, had committed many excesses, assenililed 
dflyiiiR army of ten thousand men, consisting of his piincipa. 
uohiljty and their followers, who were directed to bring theif 
hawks and dogs with them, that the monarch mi^rht refresh him- 
self ■with sport durinff the intervals of military execiition. With 
this array he swept thrfiugh Ettricke forest, hanged over thu sate 
of his own castle Piers Cockburn of Hendei-land, and caused Add)a 
Soott of Tushielaw, who was distinguished by the title of King of 
the Border, and the noted John Armstrong of Gilnockie, to be ex- 
ecuted. The effect of this severity was such, that, as the vulgar 
expressed it, "the rush bush kept the oow." 



CANTO n.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

And wide their loyal portals flung. 

O'er their own oateway struggling hung. 

Loud cries their blood from Aleggat's mead, 

P'rom Yarrow bi-aes, and banks of Tweed, 

Where the lone streams of Ettricke glide, 

And from the silver Teviot's side; 

The dales, where martial clans did ride. 

Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 

So faithless, and so iiithless known. 

Now hither comes ; his end the same, 

The same pretext of syhan game. 

What grace for Highland chiefs judge ye, 

By fate of Border chivalry.* 

Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 

This by espial sure I know : 

Your counsel in the streight I show.'" 



307 



Ellen and Margaret fearfully 

Sought comfort in each other's eye, 

Then turned their ghastly look, each one, 

This to her sire, that to her son. 

The hasty colour went and came 

In the bold cheek of Malcolm Grteme ; 

But, from his glance it well appeared, 

'Twas but for Ellen that he feared ; 

While sorrowful, but undismay'd. 

The Douglas thus his counsel said: — 

" Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar. 

It may but thunder and pass o'er; 

Nor will I here remain an hour. 

To draw the lightning on thy bower ; 

For well thou know"st, at this grey head 

The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 

For thee, who, at thy King's command. 

Canst aid him with a gallant band, 



» James was, in fact, attentive to restrain rapine and leiiduJ op- 
pression not only upr.n Ihe Border, but also in the higlilands and 
the isles, many of the chief men of which he detaineil as hostages 
for the behaviour of their vassals. 



308 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Submission, homage, humbled pride, 
Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and I will seek, apart. 
The refuge of some forest cell ; 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. 
Till, on the mountain and the moor, 
The stern pursuit be passed and o'er." 



" No, by mine honour l" Roderidk said, 

" So help me heaven, and my good blade : 

I^ 0, never ! Blasted be yon pine, 

My fathers' ancient crest, and mine, 

If from its shade in danger part 

The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 

Hear my blunt speech. Grant me this main 

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 

Will friends and allies flock enow ; 

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 

Will bind to us each Western Chief. 

When the loud pipes my bridal tell, 

The Links of Forth shall hear the knell. 

The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 

And when I light the nuptial torch, 

A thousand villages in flames. 

Shall scare the slumbers of King James. 

— -Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 

And, mother, cease these sighs, I pray; 

I meant not all my heat might say. 

Small need of inroad, or of tight, 

When the sage Douglas may unite 

Each mountain clan in friendly band. 

To guard the passes of their land. 

Till the foiled King, from pathless gleiu 

Shall bootless turn him home agen. ' 

XXXI. 

There are who have, at midnight hour. 
In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 
And, on the verge that beetled o'er 
The ocean-tide's incessant roar. 



CANTO II.] THIi LAPy OF TUE lAKE. 

Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream. 

Till wakened by the morning beam ; 

When, dazzled by the eastern glow, 

Such startler cr.st his glance below. 

And saw unmeasured depth around, 

And heard unintermitted sound. 

And thought the battled fence so frail, 

It waved like cobweb in the gale ; 

Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 

Did he not desperate impulse feel. 

Headlong to plunge himself below, 

And meet the worst his fears foreshow 

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound, 

As sudden ruin yawned around. 

By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 

Still for the Douglas fearing most. 

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand. 

To buy his safety with her hand. 



300 



Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 
And eager rose to speak — but ere 
His tongue could hurry forth his fear, 
Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, 
A\Tiere death seemed combating with life : 
For to her cheek, in feverish Hood, 
One instant rushed the throbbing blood ' 
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, 
Left its domain as wan as clay. 
"Roderick, enough! enough f he cried, 
" My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 
Not that the blush to wooer dear, 
Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 
It may not be — forgive her, chie^ 
Nor hazard aught for our relief. 
Against his sovereign, Douglas no'er 
Will level a rebellious spear. 
Twas 1 that taught his youthful hand 
To rein a steed and wield a brand. 
/ see him yet, the princely boy ! 
Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 



310 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [OVNTO XL 

I love him still, despite ray wrongs, 
By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 
Oh seek the grace you well may find, 
Without a cause to mine combined," 

XXXIII- 

Twice through the hall tne Chieftain strode, 
The waving of his tartans broad, 
And darkened brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill Daemon of the night, 
Stoo^iing his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way: 
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 
At length the hand of Douglas wi-ung. 
While eyes, that mocked at tears before, 
With bitter drops were running o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
CouN-ulsive heaved its chequered shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came, 
To aid her parting steps, the Graeme. 

XXXIV. 

Then Roderick from the Douglas brolse-i— 
As flashes flame through sable smoke, 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low. 
To one broad blaze of i-uddy glow. 
So the deep anguish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid: — • 
" Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said, 
" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 
The lesson I so lately taught.^ 



CANTO IL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 
Thank thou for punishment delayed." 
Eager as greyhound on his game, 
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. 
" Perish my name, if aught afford 
Its chieftain safety, save his sword!" 
U'hus as they strove, their desperate hand 
Griped to the dagger or the brand, 
And death had been — but Douglas rose. 
And thrust between the struggling foes 
His giant strength: — "Chieftains, forego! 
I hold the first who strikes, my foe. 
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! 
What ! is the Douglas fallen so far, 
His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 
Of such dishonourable broil!" 
Sullen and slov.-ly, they unclasp. 
As struck with shame, their desperate grasp. 
And each upon his rival glared. 
With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 



311 



Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung. 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream. 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword. 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word. 
"Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air!* 
Then may'st thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 
Nor lackey, with his free-bom clan. 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
I^Iore would he of Clan- Alpine know. 
Thou canst our strength and passes show. 
Malise, what ho.^" — ^his henchmanf came; 
"Give our safe conduct to the Gr«me." 

* Hardihood was in every respect so esseniial to tlie chajactei 
of a Higlilaiider. that the reproach of efieuiinacy was the most 
bitter wliich could be thrnwti upon him. 

t This officer who was a sort of secretary, was to be ready, 
upon all occasions, to venture his lite in defence of his master. 
At drinking-boxits he stood behind hischieftain'sseat, at h's hauncl,, 
Trom whti-ce his title was derived. 



!12 



THE LADV 01' THE LAKE. 



[C.VNTO U 



Yming Malcolm answered, calm and bold, 
" Fear nothing for thy favourite hold. 
The spot, an angel deigned to grace, 
Is blessed, though robbers haunt the plaoe ; 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to jne the mountain way 
At midnight, as in blaze of day. 
Though, with his boldest at his back. 
Even Roderick Dim beset the trade 
Brave Douglas — lovely Ellen — nay, 
Nought here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen, 
So secret, but we meet agen. 
Chieftain ! we too shall tind an hour," 
He said, and left the sylvan bower. 



XXXVI. 
Old Allan followed to the strand, 
(Such was the Douglas's command,) 
And anxious told, how, on the morn, 
The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn. 
The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. 
Much were the peril to the Graeme, 
P'rom those who to the signal came; 
Far up the lake 'twere safest laud, 
Himself would row him to the strand. 
He gave his counsel to the wind, 
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, 
Round dirk and pouch and broad-swoid rolled. 
His ample plaid in tightened fold. 
And stripped his limbs to such array 
As best mitjht suit the watery way. 



XXXVII. 

Then spoke abrupt: — "Farewell to thee. 
Pattern of old fidelity!" 
The minstrel's hand he kindly pressed, 
"Oh! could I point a place of rest! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land, 
Mv uncle leads mv vassal band; 



CANTO HLJ THE LADV or XHK LA.KE. 313 

To tame his foes, his friends to aid. 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade : 
Yet, if there be one faithful Grarne, 
Who loves the Chieftain of his name, 
Not long shall honoured Douglas dwell, 
Like hunted stag, in mountain cell; 
Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare — 
I may not give the re.-^t to air! — 
Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, 
Not the poor service of a boat. 
To waft me to yon mountain side;" 
Then plunged he in the Hashing tide. 
Bold o'er the Hood his head he bore, 
And stoutly steered him from the shore: 
And Allan strained his anxious eye. 
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave, 
To which the moon her silver gave. 
Fast as the cormoranc couid skim, 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Then landing in the moonlight dell. 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 



CANTO THIRD. 

Ct)c (Baifizvinq, 



TUxne rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 
"Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 

And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. 
Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be! 

How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity. 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 

lo sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his 
less course. 

o 



314 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO Ili. 

Yet live there still -who can remember well, 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, 

And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 

And fast the faithful clan around him drew. 
What time the warning note was keenly wound, 

What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 
While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gatheiing 

sound. 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, 
round.''^ 



The summer dawn's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch- Katrine blue ; 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees, 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 

Trembled but dimpled not for joy; 

The mountain shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest ; 

In bright uncertainty they lie. 

Like future joj's to Fancy's eye. 

The water lily to the light 

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 

Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; 

The grey mist left the mountain side. 

The torrent showed its glistening pride; 

Invisible in flecked sky, 

The lark sent down her revelry, 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; 

* WTien a chieftain designed to suintnon his clan, npi-n anj 
emergency, he slew a goat, and making a cross of any light woo 1, 
seared its extremities in the fire, and extinguished them in the 
blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery Cross, and al&o the 
Cross of Shame., \)ec-3.nse disobedience to the symbol interred in- 
famy. It was passed with incredible celerity through all the dis- 
trict which owed allegiance to the chief, and' also among his allies 
and neighbours, if the danger was common to them, and at sight 
01 the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, 
capable of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best 
arms and accoutrements, to the place of rendezvous. He who 
failed to appear, suffered the extremities of fire and sword, which 
were emblematically denounced by the bloody and burned marks 
apou this warlike signal. 



CANTO in.] THE LADY OF TAB LAKE. 816 

In answer cooed the cushat dove, 
Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 



No thought of peace, no thought of rest. 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
"With sheathed broad-sword in his hand. 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blado. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare. 
With deep and deathful meaning &atigl]t: 
For such Antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should take its road. 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 
As, from the cliffs of Ben- venue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
And high in middle heaven reclined, 
With her broad shadow on the lake, 
Silenced the warblers of the brake. 



A heap of withered boughs was piled. 
Of juniper and rowan vrild, 
Mingled with shivers from the oak. 
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 
Brian the Hennit by it stood. 
Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
His grisled beard and matted hair 
Obscured a visage of despair; 
His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, 
The scars of frantic penance bore. 
That Monk, of savage form and face. 
The impending danger of his race 
Had drawn from deepest solitude. 
Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 
Not his the mien of Christian priest 
But Druid's, from the grave released, 



816 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [cANTO III. 

Whose hardened heart and eye might brook 

On human sacrifice to look. 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er; 

The hallowed creed gave only worse 

And deadlier emphasis of curse. 

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer. 

His cave the pilgrim shunned with care; 

The eager huntsman knew his bound, 

And in mid chase called off his hound; 

Or if, in lonely den or strath, 

The desert^dwelTer met his path, 

He prayed, and signed the cross between. 

While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told.* 

His mother watched a midnight fold. 

Built deep within a dreary glen. 

Where scattered lay the bones of men. 

In some forgotten battle slain, 

And bleached by drifting wind and rain. 

It might have tamed a warrior's heart. 

To view such mockery of his art! 

The knot-grass fettered there the hand. 

Which once could burst an iron baud; 

Beneath the broad and ample bone, 

That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 

A feeble and a timorous guest, 

The field- fare framed her lowly nest; 

There the slow blind-worm left his slime 

On the fleet limbs that mocked at time; 

And there, too, lay the leader's skull. 

Still wreathed with chaplet Hushed and full, 

For heath-bell, with her purple bloom. 

Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 

All night, in this sad glen, the maid 

Sate shrouded in her mantle's shade: 

— She said, no shepherd sought her side. 

No hunter s hand her snood untied, 

* The legend vrhich follows is not of the author's invention, 
being adopted in almost every particular, from the geographical 
ooUectious made by tUo laird of Maifavlane. 



CANTO IlL] THE LADY OF THE LAK£, 317 

Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear:* 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport, 
Her maiden girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night, 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But locked her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, uuconfessed. 



Alone, among his young compeers, 

Was Brian from his in&nt years ; 

A moody and heart-broken boy, 

Estranged from sj'mpathy and joy. 

Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 

On his mysterious lineage flung. 

Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale. 

To wood and stream his hap to waiL 

Till, frantic, he as truth received 

WTiat of his birth the crowd believed. 

And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 

To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 

In vain to soothe his wayward fate, 

The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 

In vain, the learning of the age 

Unclasped the sable-lettered page; 

Even in its treasures he could fmd 

Food for the fever of his mind. 

Eager he read whatever tells 

Of magic, cabala, and spells, 

And every dark pursuit allied 

To curious and presumptuous pride. 

Till, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrang. 

And heart with mystic horrors wrung. 

Desperate he sought Beuharrow's den. 

And hid him from the haimts of men. 

* The snood, or ribband, with which a Scottish lass braided hoi 
hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden 
character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy^ or coif, when she 
passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel 
was so unfortunate as to lose pretecsiniis to the name of maiden, 
without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither per- 
mitted to use the snood nor advanced to the graver dignity of the 
cwrch. 



318 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO HI. 



The desert gave him visions \v^ld, 

Such as might suit the Spectre's child. 

AVhere with black clitfs the torrents toil, 

He watched the wheeling eddies boil, 

Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 

Beheld the river demon rise ; 

The mountain mist took form and limb 

Of noontide hag, or goblin grim ; 

The midnight wind came wild and dread, 

Swelled with the voices of the dead 

Far on the future battle-heath 

His eye beheld the ranks of death : 

Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled. 

Shaped forth a disembodied world. 

One lingering sympathy of mind 

Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 

The only parent he could claim 

Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 

Late had he heard, in prophet's dream. 

The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ;* 

Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharrow's shingly side, 

Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride ;'J' 

The thunderbolt had split the pine — 

All augur'd ill to Alpine's line. 

He girt his loins, and came to show 

The signals of impending woe. 

And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 

As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 



'Twas all prepared — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock 

* Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have o 
tutelar, or domestic spirit, either of male or fem<ile appeararce, 
who toois; an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its 
wailings any approaching disaster. The Ben-Shie implies the 
fem.ile Fairv, Tvhose lamentations ^ve^e often supposed to precede 
the death of a chieftain of particular families. 

t A presage of this kind is still believed to announce death to 
the ancient highland family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. Th** spirit oi 
an ancestor slain in battle js heard to gallop along a stonj; bank, 
and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing biS 
ftiiry bridle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity. 



CAKTO m.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 319 

Before the kindling pile was laid, 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet framed with care. 
A cubit's length in measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan- Alpine's grave,* 
And, answering Lomond's breezes deep. 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, thus formed, he held on high. 
With wasted hand and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke. 
While his anathema he spoke. 

IX. 

" Woe to the clansman, who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew. 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low ! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's ti-ust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 
But from his sires and kindred thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe." 
Ke paused — the word the vassals took. 
With forward step and tiery look. 
On high their naked brands they shook, 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first, in murmur low. 
Then, like the billow in his course, 
That far to seaward finds his source. 
And flings to shore his mustered force. 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 

" Woe to the traitor, woe !" 

* Inch- CaiViach, the Isle of Jfiins, or of Old "Women, is a mcsft 
beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch-Lomond. Tho 
buriiil ground there continues to be used, and contains the family 
places of sepulture of several families, claiming a descent from the 
old Scottish King Alpine. 



320 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CAKTO IH, 

Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle screamed afar — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 

X. 

The shout was hushed on lake and fell, 
The Monk resumed his muttered spell. 
Dismal and low its accents came, 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; 
And the few words that reached the air 
Although the holiest name was there. 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
" Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear ! 
For, as the flames this sjrmbol sear. 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim. 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down -wretchedness and shame, 

And infamy and woe !" 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill, 
Denouncing misery and ill. 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammered slow; 
Answering, with imprecation dread, 
" Sunk be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head 

We doom to want and woe !" 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! 
And the grey pass where birches wave, 

On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 

Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his labouring breath he drew. 
While, with set teeth and clenched han^, 
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, 



CANTO IIL] THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 

He meditated curse more dread. 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head, 
AN'lio summoned to his Chieftain's aid, 
Tlie signal saw and disobeyed. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood. 
He quenched among the bubbling blood, 
And as again the sign he reared. 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" Wlien Hits this Cross from man to man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed 
May ravens tear the careless eyes ! 
Wolves make the coward heart their prize 1 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, 
So may his heart' s-blood drench his hearthl 
As dies in hissing gore the spark. 
Quench thou his light, Destruction dajk! 
And be the grace to him denied. 
Bought by this sign to all beside 1" 
He ceased : no ecno gave agen 
The murmur of the deep Amen. 



Then Roderick, with impatient look, 
From Brian's hand the s}Tiibol took : 
" Speed, jNIalise, speed !"' he said, and gave 
Tlie crosslet to his henchman brave; 
"• The muster-place be Lanric mead — 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed!" 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch-Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
So rapidly the harge-men row. 
The bubbles, where they launched the boat, 
W" ere all unbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple still, 
When it had neared the mainland hill; 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathoms wide« 
When lightly bounded to lLo land. 
The messenger of blood and brand, 
o2 



321 



322 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO Ul. 

XIII. 

Speed, Malise, speed ! the dim deer's hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied.* 
Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 
Burst do^vn like torrent from its crest ; 
With short and springing footsteps pass 
The trembling bog and false morass ; 
Across the brook like roebuck bound, 
And thread the brake like questing hound ; 
The crag is high, the scaur is deep. 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap ; 
Parched are thy burning lips and bro-w. 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 
The wounded hind thou track' st not now 
Pursu'st not maid through greenwood bougll. 
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and warrior deed 
Are in thy course — Speed, Malise, speed ! 



Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown, 
They poured each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; 
He showed the sign, he named the place, 
And, pressing forward like the wind, 
Left clamour and surprise behind. 
The fisherman forsook the strand, 
Th? swarthy smith took dirk and brand; 
With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
Left in the half-cut swathe his scjiihe ; 
The herds without a keeper strayed. 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 

* The brogue or shoe of the Hisrhlanders is made of half-dried 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the water. The ancient, 
buskin was still ruder, being made of the undressed deer's hide, 
with the hair outwards, a circumstance which procured the High- 
land ers the well-known epithet oi red shanks. 



CAXTO in.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, 
The hunter left the stag at hay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
Bo swept the tumult and affray 
Along the margin of Achray. 
Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 
'Fny banks should echo sounds of fear ! 
The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 
So stilly on thy bosom deep. 
The lark's blithe carol from the cloud. 
Seems for the scene too gaily loud. 



3-23 



Speed, Malise, speed ! the lake is past, 

Duncraggan's huts appear at last, 

And peep, like moss-gTOA\-n rocks, half seen, 

Half hidden in the copse so green ; 

There may'st thou rest, thy labour done. 

Their Lord shall speed the signal on. 

As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 

The henchman shot him do^NTi the way. 

— \Yhat woeful accents load the gale ? 

The funeral yell, the female wail ! 

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 

A valiant warrior fights no more. 

Who, in the battle or the chase. 

At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 

Within the hall, where torch's ray 

Supplies the excluded beams of day. 

Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 

And o'er him streams his ^^^dow's tear. 

His stripling son stands mournful by. 

His youngest weeps, but knows not why ; 

The \'illage maids and matrons round 

The dismal coronach* resound. 

XVI. 
COaONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain. 
He IS lost to the forest, 

» The Corcmach of the Highlanders, was a wild expressjon o£ 
Jainentation potired forth by the inourueis over the Dody of a 
dej^arted friend. 



324 THE LADY OF Tflfi LAKE. [CANTO HI 

Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, re-appearing, 

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory ; 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our Hower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 
Fleet foot on the correi,* 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone, and for ever ! 

XVII. 

See Stumah,^ who, the bier beside, 

His master's corpse with wonder eyed — 

Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo ■ 

Could send like lightning o'er the deAV, 

Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 

As if some stranger step he hears. 

'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 

Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 

But headlong haste, or deadly fear. 

Urge the precipitate career. 

All stand aghast -.—unheeding all. 

The henchman bursts into the hall ! 

Before the dead man's bier he stood, 

Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood ! 

'^' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 

Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed 1" 

* Or coji-i. The hollow side of the hill, where g-ame usually 
lies 

i Faithful, The name of a do^. 



CAiNTO III] THE LADY OF TUE LAKE, 325 

XYIII. 

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 

Sprang forth and seized the fatal sigu. 

In haste the stripling to his side 

His father's dirk and broad-sword tied; 

But when he saw his mother's eye 

Watch him in speechless agony, 

Back to her opened arms he flew, 

Pressed on her lips a fond adieu. 

" Alas !" she sobbed — " and yet be gone. 

And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son 

One look he cast upon the bier, 

Daslied from his eye the gathering tear. 

Breathed deep, to clear his labouring breast. 

And tossed aloft his bonnet crest. 

Then, like the high-bred colt when freed 

First he essays his tire and speed. 

He vanished, and o'er moor and moss 

Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 

Suspended was the widow's tear, 

Willie yet his footsteps she could hear ; 

And when she marked the henchman's eye 

^^'et with unwonted sympathy, 

" Kinsman," she said, *■' his race is run, 

That should have sped thine errand on ; 

The oak has fallen— the sapling bough 

Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 

Yet trust I well, his duty done. 

The orphan's God will guard my son. 

And you, in many a danger true, 

At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 

To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 

Let babes and women wail the dead." 

Then weapon-clan, and martial call. 

Resounded through the funeral hall. 

While from the walls the attendant band 

Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 

And short and flitting energy 

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 

As if the sounds to warrior dear 

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 

But faded soon that borrowed force; 

Grief claimed his right, and tears their course. 



326 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO ID 

XIX. 

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. 
O'er dale and hill the sammons flew, 
Not rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 
The tear that gathered in his eye. 
He left the mountain breeze to dry ; 
Lintil, where Teith's young waters roll. 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, 
That graced the sable strath with green. 
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 
But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily. 
Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 
He dashed amid the torrent's roar ; 
His right hand high the crosslet bore. 
His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide 
And stay his footing in the tide. 
He stumbled twice — the foam splashed high; 
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
And had he fallen — for ever there, 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! 
But still, as if in parting life, 
Firmer he gi-asped the Cross of strife. 
Until the opposing bank he gained, 
And up the chapel pathway strained. 

XX. 

A blithesome I'out, that morning tide. 
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. 
Her ti-oth Tombea's Mar}- gave 
To Is orman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch. 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude, but glad procession, came 
Bcnnetted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, 
Which snooded maiden would not hear J 
And children, that, unwitting why, 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride, 



ai>TO m.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 

Whose do^vncast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step, and bashful hand, 
She held the kerchiefs snowy bimd; 
The gallant bridegroom, by her side. 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride, 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of cheer. 

XXI. 

T^Tio meets them at the church-yard gate ? 

The messenger of fear and fate ! 

Haste in his hurried accent lies, 

And grief is swimming in his eyes. 

All dripping from the recent flood, 

Panting and travel-soiled he stood. 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word ; 

" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 

Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed 1" 

And must he change so soon the hand. 

Just linked to his by holy band. 

For the fell cross of blood and brand ? 

And must the day, so blithe that rose, 

And promised rapture in the close. 

Before its setting hour, divide 

The bridegroom from the plighted bride ? 

Oh fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 

Clan- Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, 

Her summons dread, brooks no delay ; 

Stretch to the race — away ! away I 

XXII. 

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside. 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride. 
Until he saw the starting tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer; 
Then, trusting not a second look, 
In haste he sped him up the brook. 
Nor backward glanced till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith 
What in the racer's bosom stirred.'' 
The sickening pang of hope deferred 



327 



328 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO III 

And memory, with a torturing train 

Of all his morning visions vain. 

Mingled with love's impatience, came 

The manly thirst for martial fame; 

The stormy joy of mountaineers, 

Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 

And zeal for clan and chieftain burning, 

And hope, from well-fought held returning, 

With war's red honours on his crest, 

To clasp his Mary to his breast. 

Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brao. 

Like tire from flint he glanced away. 

While high resolve, and feeling strong, 

Bui-st into voluntary song. 



SONG. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken* curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid I 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 
I may not, dare not, fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know; 
"When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe. 
His heart must be like bended bow. 

His foot like arrow free, Mary ! 

A time will come with feeling fraught ! 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary I 
And if returned from conquered foes. 
How blithely will the evening close, 
How £;weet the linnet sing repose 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 
« J5roc/cc7^— Fern. 



CANTO IIL] THli LADY OF THK LARK. 329 

XXIV. 

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 

Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,* 

Hushing in conflagration strong, 

Thy deep ra%-ine3 and dells along, 

Wrapping thy clitfs in purple glow. 

And reddening the dark lakes below ; 

Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 

As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 

The signal roused to martial coil 

The sullen margin of Ijoch-Voil, 

V/aked still Loch-Doine, and to the source 

Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 

Thence southward turned its rapid road 

Adown Strath- Gartney's valley broad. 

Till rose in arms each man might claim 

A portion in Clan- Alpine's name ; 

From the grey sire, whose trembling hand 

Could hardly buckle on his brand. 

To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 

Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 

Each valley, each sequestered gien, 

Mustered its little horde of men, 

Tliat met as torrents from the height, 

In Highland dale their streams unite, 

Still gathering, as they pour along, 

A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 

Till at the rendezvous they stood 

By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 

Each trained to arms since life began, 

Owning no tie but to his clan, 

No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand,'!' 

No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 



That summer morn had Roderick Dhu 
Surveyed the skirts of Ben- venue, 

* The heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set nn fire, that 
the sheep may have the advantage of the young- herbag-e pro- 
duced in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom pro- 
duces occasionally the most beautiful nocturnal appearance, simi- 
lar almost to the discharge of a volcano. 

+ The deep and implicit respect paid by the highland clansmen 
to their chief, rendered tliis both a common and a solemn oatii. 



330 THE LADV OF THE LAKE, [CANTO IIL 

And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath. 

To view the frontiers of Mentcith. 

All backward came with news of tmce ; 

Still lay each martial Cxraeme and Bruce, 

In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, 

No banner waved on Cardross gate, 

On Duchray's towers no beacon shone. 

Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con; 

All seemed at peace. Now, wot ye why 

The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, 

Ere to the muster he repair, 

This western frontier scanned with care ? — • 

In Ben-venue's most darksome cleft, 

A fair, though cruel pledge was left ; 

For Douglas, to his promise true, 

That morning from the isle withdrew. 

And in a deep sequestered dell 

Had sought a low and lonely cell. 

By many a bard in Celtic tongue, 

Has Coir- nan- Uriskin* been sung; 

A softer name the Saxon gave. 

And called the grot the Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 

It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest, 
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had stayed full many a rock. 
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
From Ben-venue's grey summit wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled, 
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot. 
And formed the rugged sylvan gi'ot. 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade. 
At noontide there a twilight made, 

* This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the moun- 
tain nf Ben-venue, overhanging the south-eastern extremity of 
Loch-Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and over- 
shadowed with birch trees, mingled -with oaks, the spontaneoiia 
production of the mountain, even where its cliffs appear denudod 
of soil. The name signifies, the den of the shaggy men, and tradi- 
tion has asct bed to the urisk, who gives name to the cavern, a 
figure between a goat and a man ; in short, precisely that of the 
Grecian satyr. 



CANTO IILJ THE I ADY OF THE LAKE. 



331 



Unless -when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still, 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake 
A Allien sound would upward breaK, 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliffs, Avith hideous sway, 
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung, 
In such the Avild cat leaves her young ; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair, 
Sought, for a space, their safety there. 
Grey Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort, 
And satyrs hold their sylvan court. 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now eve, with western shadows long. 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong. 
When Roderick, with a chosen few, 
Repassed the heights of Ben- venue. 
Above the Goblin-cave they go, 
Tlirough the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ;* 
The prompt retainers speed before. 
To launch the shallop from the shore. 
For cross Loch- Katrine lies his way 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And place his clansmen in array. 
Yet lags the Chief in musing mind. 
Unwonted sight, his men behind. 
A single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord ; 
The rest their way through thickets break, 
Ajid soon await him by the lake. 

* licalach- nam-Bo, or the pass of cattle, is a most magnificent 
flade, overtmn^ with aged birch trees, a little higher up the 
mountain than the Cor-nan-Uriskin. 



332 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO HI. 

It was a fair and gallant sight, 

To view them from the neighbouring height, 

By the low-levelled sunbeam's light ; 

For strength and stature, from the clan 

Each warrior was a chosen man, 

As even afar might well be seen, 

By their proud step and martial mien. 

Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 

A wild and warlike group they stand. 

That well became such mountain strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turned apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning mom 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn, 
To drown his love in war's wild roar, 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with sand. 
And fetters flame with flaxen band, 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost. 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye. 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear 
The accents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But, hark ! what mingles in the strain ? 
It is the harp of Allan-bane, 
That wakes its measures slow and high, 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
What melting voice attends the strings ? 
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings I 

XXIX. 
HYMN TO THE VIRQIN. 

Ave Maria! maiden mild! 
Listen to a maiden's prayer ; 



CiUVTO lit.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Thou canst hear though from the "wiid 

lliou caust save amidst despair. 

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 
Though banished, outcast, and reviled — 

Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer ! 
Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria! 
Ave 31 aria! undefiled ! 

The iliut}' couch we now must share, 
Shall seem with down of eider piled, 

If thy protection hover there. 

The murky cavern's heavy air 
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ; 

Then, Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer ! 
Mother, list a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria! 
Ave Maria ! Stainless styled ! 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 

AVe bow us to our lot of care, 
Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 

Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer ! 
And for a father hear a child ! 

Ave Maria! 

XXX. 

Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb. 
As listening still. Clan- Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his hea^y sword, 
Until the page, with humble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then, while his plaid he round him cast, 
" It is the last time — 'tis the last" — 
He muttered thrice — "■ the last time e'er 
That angel- voice shall Roderick hear !" 
It was a goading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain side ; 
Sullen he Hung him in the boat. 
And instant cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that siivery bay, 
And eastward held their hasty way, 



332 



334 TUE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANTO IV, 

Till, with the latest beams of light, 
The band arrived on Lanrick height, 
Where mustered in the vale below. 
Clan- Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI. 

A various scene the clansmen made, 

Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed; 

But most, with mantles folded round, 

^V'el•e couched to rest upon the ground, 

Scarce to be known by curious eye, 

From the deep heather where they lie. 

So well was matched the tartan screen 

With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 

Unless where, here and there, a blade. 

Or lance's point, a glimmer made, 

Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. 

But, when, advancing tlii-ough the gloom, 

They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, 

Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, 

Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 

Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 

Three times returned the martial yell. 

It died upon Bochastle's plain. 

And Siience claimed her evening reign. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



"■ The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew. 
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. 
Oh wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 
Emblem of hope and love through future years !" 
Thus spoke young Nonnan, heir of Armandave, 
What tim;- the suu arose on Vennachar's broad wave. 



CAXTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LuVKE. 

II. 

Such foud conceit, half said, half tun?, 

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 

All ^vhile he stripped the wild-rose spray, 

His axe and how beside him lay 

For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 

A wakeful sentinel he stood. 

Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung, 

And instant to his arms he sprang. 

" Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise ? — soon 

Alt thou returned from Braes of Doune. 

By thy keen step and glance I know. 

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." 

(For while the Fierj' Cross hied on. 

On distant scout had Malise gone.) 

" Where sleeps the Chief ?'' ' the henchman said, 

" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 

To his lone couch Til be your guide." 

Then called a slumberer by his side. 

And stirred him with his slackened how — 

*' Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho ! 

We seek the Chieftain ; on the track. 

Keep eagle watch till I come back." 



Together up the pass they sped : 

" What of the foeman ?" Norman said. 

" Varying reports from near and far ; 

This certain — that a band of war 

Has for two days been ready boune, 

At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 

King James, the while, with princely powers. 

Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 

Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout, 

The warrior's plaid rnay bear it out ; 

But, Noi-man, how wilt thou provide 

A shelter for thy boimy bride .^" 

" Wliat ! know ye not that Roderick's care 

To the lone isle hath caused repair 

Each maid and matron of the ciau, 

And ever\' child and a^ed man 



335 



336 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO 

Unfit for arms? and given his charge, 
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, 
Upon these lakes shall float at lai'ge, 
But all beside the islet moor, 
That such dear pledge may rest secure ?*' 

IV. 

" Tis well advised — the Chieftain's plan 

Bespeaks the father of his clan. 

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 

Apart from all his followers true P" 

■'•' It is, because last evening-tide 

Brian an augury hath tried, 

Of that dread kind which must not be 

Unless in dread extremity. 

The Taghairm* called ; by which, afar. 

Our sires foresaw the events of war. 

Duucraggan's milk-white bull they slew " 



" Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew. 
The choicest of the prey we had. 
When swept our merry-men GaJlangad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark, 
His red eye glowed like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so Ifeet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe, 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 
But steep and flinty was the road, 
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, 
And when we came to Dennan's Row, 
A child might scatheless stroke his brow."' 



" That bull was slain ; his reeking hide 
They stretched the cataract beside, 

* One of the most noted of the Iliphlaud modes of div-inatioo 
Mras the Taghairm. A person was wrapptxl up iii the Gkin oj a 
newly-slain bullock, and deposited beside a «-atoi-faU, or in tomo 
other wild, and unusual situation, where he revolved in Ills uiind 
the question promised, and whatever -was impressed m>on him by 
his exalted iiua^anation, passed for the inspu'ation of the discm- 
be died spirits which haunt these desoUte recesses. 



CANTO XV.] THE LADY OF THE L.4KE. 337 

Whose waters their wild tumult toss 

Adown the black and craggy boss 

Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.* 

Couched on a shelve beneath its brink. 

Close where the thundering torrents sink.^ 

Rocking beneath their headlong sv/ay, 

And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 

Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 

The wizard waits prophetic dream. 

Nor distant rests the Chief: — but hush ! 

See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 

The Hermit gains you rock, and stands 

To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 

Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost. 

That hovers o'er a slaughtered host ? 

Or raven on the blasted oak. 

That, watching while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with sullen croak ?"i' 

" Peace ! peace ! to other than to me, 

Thy words ^-ere evil ausrurv; 

But still 1 hold Sir Roderick's blade >#' 

Clan- Alpine's omen and her aid. 

Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or helL 

Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell. 

The Chieftain joins him, see — and now. 

Together they descend the brow." 

VI. 

And, as they came with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word : 
*' Roderick ! it is a fearful strife. 
For man endowed with mortal life. 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, 

» There is a rocTc so named in the forest of Glenfinlas, by whicli 
B. tumultuary cataract takes its course. 

+ lii cutting up, or, as it was technically called, breaking th° 
slaughtered stag, the forester had his allotted portion; the hounds 
had a certain afiowance; and, to make the division as general as 
possible, the very birds had their share also. "There is a little 
gristle," says Tuberville, " which is upon thespoone of the brisket, 
which we call the raven's bone ; and I have seen in some places 
a raven so wont and accustomed to it, that she would never fail 
to croak and cry for it all the time you were in breakiag up of the 
deer, and would not depart till she had it." 
P 



338 THE LADT OF IHE T.AKE. [Cj\NTO W. 

Whose eye can stare in stony trance. 

Whose liair can rouse like warrior's lance — 

'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd, 

The curtain of the future world. 

Yet witness every quaking limb, 

My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim, 

My soul with harrowing anguish torn, 

This for my Chieftain have I borne ! 

The shapes that sought my fearful couch. 

An human tongue may ne'er avouch 

No mortal man — save he, who, bred 

Between the living and the dead. 

Is gifted beyond nature's law. 

Had e'er survived to say he saw. 

At length the fateful answer came, 

In characters of living flame ! 

Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll. 

But borne and branded on my soul ; — 

Which spills the foremost foeman's life, 

That party conquers in the strife."* 



•" Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 
Good is thine auguiy, and fair. 
Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood. 
But first our broad-swords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Self-offered to the auspicious blow : 
A spy hath sought my land this mom, 
No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth, 
To east, to westward, and to south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, 
Has charge to lead his steps aside. 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown. 
He light on those shall bring him down. 
But see, who comes his news to show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe .^" 

* This Tras an auffury frequently attended to. It is saiil that 
the Highlanders under Montrose were sn deeply imbued with the 
notion, that on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, they 
murdered a defeucelens herdsman, merely to secure this advan- 
tage. 



CANTO 1V.3 THE LADY OF XHK LAKE. 
Vlll. 

" At Doune, o'er manj^ r\ spear and glaive, 

Two Barons proud their banners wave. 

I saw the Moray's silver star. 

And marked the sable pale of Mar." 

" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on?" " To-morroVs noOD 

Will see them here for battle boune." 

" Then shall it see a meeting stem 1 — 

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn ? 

Strengthened by them we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not ? — well ! Clan- Alpine's men 

Shall man the Trosachs' shagg}' glen ; 

Within Loch- Katrine's gorge we 11 fight. 

All in our maids' and matrons' sight. 

Each for his hearth and household fire. 

Father for child, and son for sire — 

Lover for maid beloved ! — but why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear ! 

A messenger of doubt or fear ? 

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance, 

Than doubt or teiTor can pierce tlirough 

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ; 

'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. 

Each to his post ! — all know their charge.*^ 

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance. 

The broad-swords gleam, the banners dance, 

Obedient to the Chieftain's glance 

I turn me from the martial roar. 

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 



Where is the Douglas ? — ^he is gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the grev stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are poured on ha: unheeding ear. 



340 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANIO IV. 

" He will return — dear lady, trust ! — 
With joy return ; he will— he must ! 
Well wa.-; it time to seek afar 
Some refuge from impending war, 
When e'en Clan- Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a light, 
Floating the live-long yesternight, 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I marked at morn how close they ride, 
Thick moored by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen, 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the mainland side. 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare .^" 

X. 

" No, Allan, no ', Pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave. 
The tear that glistened in his eye 
DroTNTied not his puipose fixed and high. 
My soul, though feminine and weak, 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake. 
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 
Reflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears reports of battle rife. 
He deems himself the cause of strife. 
I saw him redden, when the theme 
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream. 
Of Malcolm Grseme in fetters bound. 
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
Think' st thou he trow'd thine omen auglitp 
Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth — for Roderick too — 
(Let me be just) that friend so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning given, 
' If not on earth we meet in heaven ?' 



CANTO IV.] XHjbl hXDY OF THE LAKE 341 

Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane. 
It' eve return him not again, 
Am I to hie and make me known? 
Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne, 
Buys his friends' safety with his own ; 
He goes to do — what 1 had done, 
Had Douglas' daughter been his eon !" 

XI. 

" Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 

If aught should his return delay. 

He only named yon holy fane 

As fitting plac« to meet again. 

Be sure he's safe ; and for the Graeme, 

Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! 

My \'isioned sight may yet prove true, 

Nor bode of ill to him or you. 

When did my gifted dream beguile? 

Think of the stranger at the isle, 

And think upon the harpings slow, 

That presaged this approaching woe ! 

Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 

Believe it when it augurs cheer. 

Would we had left this dismal spot ! 

Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot, 

Of such a wondrous tale I know — 

Dear lady, change that look of woe ! ] 

My heart was wont thy grief to cheer ■'''. 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear, 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
The ]\Iinstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 

BALLAD. 
AxicE Brand.* 

Merry it is in the good green wood, 

When the mavisf and merlej are singing, 

* This little fairy tale is founded upon a very curious Danish 
balldd, which occurs in the Kiempe Viseb, a collection of heroic 
songs, first published in 1591, and reprinted in 1695. 
t Thrush. J Blackbird. 



342 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. LCA^ 10 iV. 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry . 

And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

" Oh Alice Brand ! my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold, 

As outlaws wont to do. 

" Oh Alice ! 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 

And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 
Tbat on the night of our luckless flight, 

Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech. 

The hand that held the glaive, 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed. 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer 

To keep the cold away." 

" Oh Richard ! if my brother died, 

'Twas but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried, 

And Fortune sped the lance. 

" If pall and vair no more I wear, 

Nor thou the crimson sheen, 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, 

As gay the forestrgreen. 

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 

And lost thy native land. 
Still Alice has her ovra Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 

XIII. 

BAUjAU—contintied. 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green -wood, 

So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown side. 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 



C4NTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 343 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 

Who won'd within the hill — * 
Like wind in the porch of a i-uined church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

" "VVTiy sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer. 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairy's fatal green ?'t' 
" Up, Urgan, up I to yon mortal hie, 

For thou wert christened man ; J 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 

For muttered word or ban. 

" Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, 

The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, 

Nor yet find leave to die." 

XIV. 
BALLAD — cojitimied. 
'Tis meriy, 'tis merry, in good gi-een wood. 

Though the birds have stillecf their singing ; 
The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 
And Richard is faggots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf 

Before Lord Richard stands, 
And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the gi'isly elf, 

" That is made with bloody hands." 

* The Daoine Ski', or men of peace of the Highlanders, are be- 
lieved to iuliabic certain round grassy eminences, where they 
celebrate their nocturnal festi%-ities by the light of the inoou. 
Many, it is said, of mortal race have been entertained in their se- 
cret recesses; but unhappy is the mortal wlio joins in their joys, 
or ventures to partake of their dainties. By this indulgence, ba 
forfeits for ever the society of men, and isbou'nd down irrevocably 
to the condition of a Shi'ich, or man of peace. 

t As the daoine sM, or men of peace, wore fn-oen habits, they 
w^ere supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to as- 
sume their favourite colour. 

X The elves were supposed greatly to envy the privilesres ac- 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who 
had fallen into their jjower, a certain precedence, founded vipou 
this advantageous distinctioa. 



344 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. JCANTUIV. ! 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 

That woman void of fear — 
" And if there's blood upon his hand, 

'Tis but the blood of deer." 

" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood I 

It cleaves unto his hand, 
The stain of thine own kindly blood, 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign — 
*' And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 
" And I conjure thee, Demon elf, 

By Him whom Demons fear, 
To show us whence thou art thyself ? 

And what thine errand here.'*" 

XV. 

BALLAD — eontimied. 

" 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 

When fair)' birds are singing. 
When the court doth ride by their monarch's sidt^, 

With bit and bridle ringing : 

"And gaily shines the Fairy land — 

But all is glistening show, 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 

" And fading, like that varied gleam, 

Is our inconstant shape, 
^^^lo now Hke knight and lady seem. 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

"• It was between the night and day. 

When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sank down in a sinful fray, 
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away 

To the joyless Elfin bower.* 

» The subjects of Fairy- land were recruited from the regions of 
humanity, so that many of those who were in this world supposMi 
to have discharged the debt of nature, had only become denizatiH 
of the " Loude of Faery." 



CANTO IV.] niK l-ADY OF THE LAKE. 045 

" But wist 1 of a woman bold. 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal meld 

As fair a form as thine." 
She crossed him once — she crossed h:ra twio?— 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler gi'ew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold : 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 

Her brother, Ethert Brand 1 

Merry it is in the good green wood. 

When the mavis and merle are singing, 

But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, 
When all the bells were ringing. 



Just as the minstrel sounds were staid, 
A stranger climbed the steepy glade ; 
His martial step, his stately mien, 
His hunting suit of Lincoln green. 
His eagle glance remembrance claims — 
'Tis Snovv-doun's Knight — 'tis James Fitz-James 
Ellen beheld as in a dream, 
Then starting, scarce suppressed a scream : 
" Oh stranger ! in such hour of fear, 
What evil hap has brought thee here?" 
" An evil hap how can it be. 
That bids me look again on thee? 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me betimes this morning tide. 
And marshall'd, over bank and bourne, 
The happy path of my return." 
" The happy path ! — what ! said he nought 
Of war, of battle to be fought, 
Of guarded pass?" — " No, by my faith! 
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." 
" Oh haste thee, Allan, to the kern 
— Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
That he will guide the stranger sure . — 
p2 



340 THK LADV OF TXiE LAKE. [CANTO IV. 

A\'hat prompted thee, unhappy man? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed by love or fear, 
UnknoAvn to him, to guide thee heiCc" 



XVII. 

" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be. 

Since it is "worthy care from thee ; 

Yet life I hold but idle breath. 

When love or honour's weighed "with death. 

Then let me profit by my chance, 

And speak my purpose bold at once. 

I come to bear thee from a wild. 

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; 

By this soft hand to lead thee far 

From frantic scenes of feud and war. 

Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 

They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 

I'll place thee in a lovely bower, 

I'll guard thee like a tender flower " 

" Oh ! hush. Sir Knight ! twere female art 

To say I do not read thy heart ; 

Too much, before, my selfish ear 

Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 

That fatal bait hath lured thee back. 

In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track 

And how, oh how, can I atone 

The "wreck my vanity brought on ! 

One way remains — I'll tell him all — 

Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame. 

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! 

But first — my father is a man 

Outlawed and exiled, under ban ; 

The price of blood is on his head. 

With me 'twere infamy to wed. 

Still would' st thou speak? — then hear the trufh ' 

Fitz-James, there is a noble youth — 

If yet he is ! — exposed for me 

And mine to dread extremity — 

Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 

Forgive, bo generous, and depart." 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE I-AKE. 347 
XTIII. 

Fitz-James knew every -vrily train 

A lady's fickle heart to gain, 

But here he knew and felt them vain. 

There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 

To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 

In maiden confidence she stood, 

Though mantled in her cheek the blood, 

And told her love with such a sigh 

Of deep and hopeless agony. 

As death had sealed her MsJcolm's doom. 

And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 

Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, 

But not with hope fled s}Tapathy. 

He proffered to attend her side. 

As brother would a sister guide. 

" Oh ! little knowest thou Roderick's heart ! 

Safer for both we go apart. 

Oh haste thee, and from Allan learn. 

If thou may'st trust yon wily kern." 

With hand upon his forehead laid, 

The conflict of his mind to shade, 

A parting step or two he made ; 

Then, as some thought had crossed his braiiij 

He paused, and turned, and came again. 



" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful Monarch gave, 
And bade, when I had boon to crave, 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that I would name. 
Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 
But one who lives by lance and sword, 
Whose castle is his helm and shield. 
His lordship, the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand, 
Who neither reck of state nor land.^* 
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 
Each guard and usher knows the sign, 



348 THy« LADY OP THE LAKE, [CAJNTTO IV, 

Seek thou the king ^yithout delay ; 

This signet shall secure th^ way ; 

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 

As ransom of his pledge to me." 

He placed the golden circlet on, 

Paused — kissed her hand — and then was gone. 

The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 

So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 

He joined his guide, and wending down 

The ridges of the mountain broAvn, 

Across the stream they took their way, 

That joins Loch- Katrine to Achray. 

XX, 

All in the Trosachs' glen was still, 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whooped loud and high — 
" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry.^" 
He stammered forth — " I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
He looked — he knew the raven's prey, 
His own brave steed: — " Ah ! gallant grey! 
For thee — for me perchance — 'twere well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. 
[Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die." 
Jealous and sullen on they fared. 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge. 
When lo ! a Avasted female form. 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
In tattered weeds and Avild array, 
Stood on a cliff beside the way. 
And glancing round her restless eye 
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky. 
Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broomt 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
To crag and cliff from dusky wing ; 



CAxXTO IV.J THE LADY OF Tat" LAKE. 

Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 
Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried, 
And shrieked, till all the rocks replied; 
As loud she laughed when near they drew, 
For then the lowland garb she knew. 
And then her hands she wildly wrung. 
And then she wept, and then she sung. 
She sung! — the voice, in better time, 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime; 
And now, though strained and roughened, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 



SONG. 
"They hid me sleep, they hid me pray, 

They say my brain is warped and Avrung- 
I cannot sleep on highland brae, 

I cannot pray in highland tongue. 
But were I now where Allan glides. 
Or heard my native Devan's tides, 
So sweetly would I rest and pray 
That heaven Avould close my wintery day! 

" Twas thus my hair they bade me braid. 
They bade me to the church repair; 

It was my bridal morn, they said. 

And my true love would meet me there. 

But woe betide the cruel guile, 

That drowned in blood the morning smile! 

And woe betide the fairy dream! 

I only waked to sob and scream." 

xxm. 

"Who is this maid? what means her by? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle grey. 
As the lone heron spreads his wing, 
3v twilight, o'er a liaunted spring." 
"•'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, 
"A cra;'.ed and cajitive lowland maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 
When Roderick foraveu Devan-side. 



49 



o50 THE LADT JF THE LAKE. [CANTO IV, 

The gay bridegroo;n resistance made, 

And felt our Chiefs unconquered blade. 

1 marvel she is now at large, 

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge; 

Hence, brain-sick fool!" He raised his bovr: 

'•Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, 

I" 11 pitch thee from the cliff as far 

As ever peasant pitched a bar." 

"Thanks, champion, thauks!" the Maniac cried. 

And pressed her to Fitz- James's side. 

" See the grey pennons I prepare. 

To seek my true-love through the air ! 

I will not lend that savage groom. 

To break his fall, one downy plume! 

No! — de^ amid disjointed stones. 

The wolves shall batten on his bones, 

And then shall his detested plaid. 

By bush and briar in mid-air staid, 

Wave forth a banner fair and free. 

Meet signal for their revelry." 



"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be stiUI" 
"Oh! thou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been, 
But still it loves the Lincoln green; 
And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 
Still, still it loves the lowland tongue. 

For oh my sweet William was forester true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away! 

His coat it was all oi" the greenwood hue, 

And so blithely he trilled the lowland lay! , . 

It was not that I meant to tell... 
But thou art wise, and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone, 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman, fearfully, 
She fixed her apprehensive eye; 
Then turned it on the Knight, and then 
Hot look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY 01' IHE LAKE. 



351 



XXV. 

" The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set. 

Ever sing merrily, merrily; 
The bows they bend, and the knives they -vrhet 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

" It was a stag, a stag of ten,* 

Bearing his branches sturdily; 
He came stately down the glen. 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

" It was there he met with a wounded doo,^ 

She was bleeding deathfullj; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

Oh so faithfully, faithfully!. , 

" He had an eye, and he could heed, 

Ever sing warily, warily; 
He had a foot, and he could speed- 
Hunters watch so narrowly. 



Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd. 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion WTOUgh<^ 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware, 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!" 
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew. 
But in his race his bow he drew: 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, 
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast. 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed, 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! 
W ith heart of fire, and foot of -wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit, death — the prize is life I 
Thy kindred ambush lies before, 
Close couched upon the heathery moor; 

» Having t«n brtmches on his antkrsj 



352 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO IV. 

Them couldst tliou reach — it may not be — 

Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, 

The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! 

Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, 

As lightning strikes the pine to dust; 

With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain. 

Ere he can win his blade again. 

Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye. 

He grimly smiled to see him die; 

Then slower wended back his way 

Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 



She sate beneath the birchen tree. 

Her elbow resting on her knee; 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, 

And gazed on it, and feebly laughed 

Her wreath of broom and feathers grey. 

Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 

The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried — ■ 

"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried; 

"This hour of death has given me more 

Of reason's power than years before ; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay, 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch 1 die, 

And something tells me in thine eye. 

That thou wert mine avenger born. 

Seest thou this tress? Oh! still I've worn 

This little tress of yellow hair, 

Through danger, frenzy, and despair! 

It once was bright and clear as thine, 

But blood and tears have dimmed its shine, 

I will not tell thee when 'twas shred. 

Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 

My brain would turn ! — but it shall wave 

Like plumage on thy helmet brave. 

Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain. 

And thou will bring it me again. 

I waver still! — Oh Ood! more bright 

Let Reason beam her ]3arting light ! — • 

Oh ! by thy knighthood's honoured sign. 

And for thy life preserved b^ mine. 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 353 

WTien thou shalt see a darksome man, 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan, 
With tartans broad and shado^vy plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong! — 
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the path ... Oh God ! . . . farewell !" 



A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James, 
Fast poured his eye at pity's claims; 
And now, with mingled grief and ire, 
He saw the murdered maid expire. 
" God, in my need, be my relief, 
As I wreak this on yonder Chief !" — 
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 
The mingled braid in blood he dyed, 
And placed it on his bonnet side : 
" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear 
No other favour will I wear. 
Till this sad token I embrue 
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 
But hark ! what means yon faint halloo ? 
The chase is up — but they shall know. 
The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." 
Barred from the knoAvn but guarded way, 
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-Jaraes must stray. 
And oft must change his desperate track, 
By stream and precipice turned back. 
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 
From lack of food and loss of strength, 
He couch'd him in a thicket hoar. 
And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 
" Of all my rash adventures past. 
This frantic feat will prove the last ! 
AVho e'er so mad but might have guess'd, 
That all this highland hornet's nest 
Would muster up in swarms so soon 
As e'er they heard of bands at Uoune ? 
Like bloodhounds now they search me out- 
Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! 



354 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO IV. 

If farther through the wilds I go^ 
I only fall upon the foe ; 
ni couch me here till evening grey, 
Then darkling try my dangerous way. 

XXIX. 

The shades of eve come slowly down, 

The woods are wrapped in deeper browii. 

The owl awakens from her dell, 

The fox is heard upon the fell ; 

Enough remains of glimmering light 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figure to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake, 

He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice, there, 

Tempered the midnight mountain air. 

But every breeze that swept the wold. 

Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, 

Tangled and steep, he journey'd on ; 

Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 

A watch-fire close before him burned. 

XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear, 
Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 
And up he sprung with sword in hand — 
" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand !" 
" A stranger." "• What dost thou require !" 
" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
My life's beset, my path is lost. 
The gale hrs chilled my limbs with frost." 
" Art thou a friend to Roderioik !" " No." 
" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?" 
" I dare ! to him and all the ]>sr>d 
He brings to aid his murderous hand." 
" Bold words ! — but, though the beast of 
The privilege of chase may claim. 
Though space and law the stag we lend. 
Ere hoimd we slip, or bow we bend, 



355 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

"Who ever reck'd, ■where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapped or slaiu.?*^ 

Thus, treacherous scouts — yet sui'e they lie, 

AVho say thou cam'st a secret spy !" 

" They do, by Heaven ! Come Roderick Dhu, 

And of his clan the boldest two, 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." 

" If by the blaze I mark aright, 

Thou bear'Bt the belt and spur of Knight." 

" Then, by these tokens may'st thou know. 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." 

•' Enough, enough ; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 



He gave him of his highland cheer. 
The hardened flesh of mountain deer ;'|' 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
He tended him like welcome guest, 
Then thus his further speech addressed : 
" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 
Each word against his honour spoke, 
Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
Yet more - -upon thy fate, 'tis said, 
A mighty augury is laid. 
It rests with me to wind my horn, 
Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
But nor for clan nor kindred's cause. 
Will I depart from honour's laws : 

« Saint John actually used this illustration when eugasred in 
coiifuiinff the plea of law proposed for the unfortunate Earl oJ 
Strafford :—'• It was true, we give laws to hares and deer, because 
they are beasts of chase ; but it was never accounted either cruelty 
or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the head as they can be 
found, because they are beasts of prey." - 

i The Scottish Highlanders in former times, devoured their 
venison raw, without any further p>eparation than compressing 
it between two batons of wood, so as to force ou\ the blood, and 
render it extremely hard. This they repkoued a great delicacy 



3j6 the lady of the lake. [canto v, 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 

A stranger is a holy name ; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 

Myself will guide thee on the way. 

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward. 

Till past Clan Alpine's outmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford— 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." 

" I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, 

As freely as 'tis nobly given !" 

" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 

With that he shook the gathered heath, 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 

And the brave foemen, side by side. 

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried. 

And slept until the dawning beam 

Purpled the mountain and the stream. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

Cte Combat 

I. 

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied, 

It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, 
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, 
And lights the fearful path on mountain side ; 

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far. 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star, 

Through all the wreckfu) storms that cloud the brow 
of wai'. 

II. 

Ihat early beam, so fair and sheen, 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen. 



CAIfTO V.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed. 
Looked out upon tlie dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by. 
And then awaked their tire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael* around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue. 
And, true to promise, led the way. 
By thicket green and mountain grey. 
A wildering path ! they winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the lich scenes beneath. 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie. 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, bursting through. 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dow — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 



At length they came where, stern and steep. 
The hill sinks dovra upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver tiows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 
An hundred men might hold the post 
With hardihood against a host, 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak. 
With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
And patches bright of bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so high, 
It held the copse in rivalry. 

* Tbe Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, aud tenas 
the Lowlanders Sassenach, or Saxons. 



OO'S THE LADY OF XUE LAKK I.CANTO V: 

But -where the lake slept deep and still. 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 
And oft both path and hill were torn, 
"Where wintry torrent down had borne. 
And heaped upon the cumbered land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace, 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And asked Fitz-James, by what strange catise 
He sought these wilds, traversed by few 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu ? 

IV. 

*' Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
Vet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
When here, but three days since, I came, 
Bewildered in pursuit of game. 
All seemed as peaceful and as still. 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." 
" Yet why a second venture try ?" 
" A vrarrior thou, and ask me why.?* 
Moves our free course by such fixed cause, 
As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight's free footsteps far and wide, 
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed. 
The merry glance of mountain maid ; 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone." 

V. 

" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
Say, heard ye nought of lowland war, 
Against Clan- Alpine raised by Mar ?** 



N*^ 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 359 

*' No, by my word ; of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung. 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hun^," 
" Free be they Hung ! — for we were loth 
Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan- Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich- Alpine's vowed and mortal foe ?" — 
" Warrior, but yester-morn I knew 
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhii, 
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight ; 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart " 

vr. 
Wrothful "t such arraignment foul. 
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said — 
" And heard'st thou why he drew his blade 
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
What reck'd the Chieftain, if he stood 
On highland heath or Holy- Rood? 
He rights such wrong where it is given, 
.If it were in the court of heaven." 
'' Still was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true, 
?fot then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
"'.\''hile Albany, with feel)le hand, 
Held borrowed truncheon of command.* 
The young king, mew'd in Stirling tower, 
\S"as stranger to respect and power. 

* There is scarcely a more disocilerly period in Scottish history 
than that which succeeded tlie battle of Floddoa, and owjiipied 
the minority oi James V. 



360 THK LADY OF THE LAKE. [OAMO V, j 

But then, thy Chieftain's rohher life ! — ; 

Winning mean Y>Yey by causeless strife, \ 

"Wrenching from ruiu'd lowland swain I 

His herds and Imrvest reared in vain — I 

Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne.'" 

VII. 

The Gael beheld him grim the while. 

And answered with disdainful smile — 

" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 

I marked thee send delighted eye, 

Far to the south and east, where lay. 

Extended in succession gay, 

Deep waving fields and pastures green, 

With gentle slopes and groves between : — ■ 

These fertile plains, that softened vale, j j 

"Were once the birthright of the Gael; \\ 

The utranger came with iron hand, I ■ 

And from our fathers reft the land. j 

Where dwell we now ? See, rudely swell j 

Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. ! 

Ask we this savage hill we tread, : 

For fattened steer or household bread i 

Ask we for Hocks these shingles dry, i 

And well the mountain might reply — ' 

' To you, as to your sires of vore, | 

Belong the target and claymore ! I ! 

I give you shelter in my breast, | 

Your own good blades must win the rest.' 

Pent in this fortress of the North, 

Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 

To spoil the spoiler as we may. 

And from the robber rend the prey ? 

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 

The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 

While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 

But one along yon river's maze — 

The Gael, of plain and river heir. 

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.* 

« The Gael, j^reat traditional liistnriaiis, never fi>rgot that 
JiCwlands had, ;i.t some reii\ote period, been the prope'i iv of ti. 
Celtic toretathrrs, «hich fnrnlshed an ample vindication o( 
the ravages tljit they cotild make ou the unioriunate di'.rri 
which lay within their roactL 



121 



•o 



f 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 361 

Where live the mountain chiefs who hold, 
That plundering lowland field and fold 
Is ought but retribution true? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 



Answered Fitz-James — " And, if I sought, 

Think'st thou no other could be brought? 

What deem ye of my path waylaid, 

My life given o'er to ambuscade?" 

" As of a meed to rashness due : 

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true — 

I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid — 

Free haJst thou been to come and go ; 

But secret path marks secret foe. I 

Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, j 

Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die, j 

Save to fulfil an augury." j 

"■ Well, let it pass ; ncfr will I now 

Fresh craise of enmity avow. 

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 

Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me with this man of pride ; 

Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's glen 

In peace ; but when I come agen, 

I come with banner, brand and bow, 

As leader seeks his mortal foe. 

For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel Chieftain and his band." 



" Have then thy wish !" — ^he whistled shrill. 
And he was answered from the hill ; 
Wild as the scream of the curlew, 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, thi'ough copse and heath, arose 
Bonnets, and spears, and bended boW8* 
On right, on left, above, below. 
Sprang up at once the lurking foe; 



3C2 THE LADY OF HIE LAKE. [CANTO V 

PVom shingles grey their lances start, 

The bracken-bush sends forth the dart, 

The rushes and the wilIoAV--\vand 

Are bristling into axe and brand, 

And every tuft of broom gives life 

To plaided warrior armed for strife. 

That whistle garrisoned the glen 

At once with full five hundred men, 

As if the ya^\^llng hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given. 

Watching their leader's beck and ■will, 

All silent there they stood and still. 

Like the loose crags whose threatening ma£3 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 

As if an infant's touch could urge 

Their headlong passage do-\vn the verge. 

With step and weapon forward flung. 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side, 

Then fixed his eye and sable brow 

Full on Pitz- James — " How say'st thou now ? 

These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon — I am Roderick Dhn !" 



Fitz-James was brave : — though to his heart 

The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 

He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 

Returned the Chief his haughty stare, 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firmly placed his foot before ; — 

*' Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as I !" 

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy which Avarriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand ; 

Down sank the disappearing band ; 

Each warrior vanished where he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood: 



CAxVTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Sank brand and spear and bended bow, 
In osiers pale and copses low : 
It seemed as if their mother Earth 
Had swallowed up her warlike birth. ^ 
The wind's last breath had tossed in air 
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair — 
The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
Where heath and fern were waving wide , 
The sun's last glance was glinted back. 
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack- 
The next, all unreflected, shone 
On bracken green and cold grey stone. 



Fitz- James looked round — ^yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received ; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed. 

And to his look the Chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 

But — doubt not aught from mine array. 

Thou art my guest ; — 1 pledged my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand, 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael, 

So move we on ; — I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant, 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 

They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 

That seeming lonesome pathway throughj 

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 

With lances, that to take his life 

Waited but signal from a guide, 

So late dishonoured and defied. 



863 



3&1 



THE LADT OF THE LAKE. [CANTO V. 



Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians of the ground, 
Aud still from copse and heather deep, 
Fancy saw spear and broad-sword peep. 
And in the plover's shrilly strain, 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green. 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near. 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 

The Chief in silence strode before, 

And reached that torrent's sounding shore, 

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 

From Venuachar in silver breaks, 

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 

On Bochastle the mouldering lines, 

Where Rome, the Empress of the world, 

Of yore her eagle wings unfuri'd.* 

And here his course the Chieftain staid. 

Threw down his target and his plaid, 

And to the lowland warrior said : — 

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 

Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 

This murderous chief, this ruthless man. 

This head of a rebellious clan. 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 

Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 

Not/, man to man, and steel to steel, 

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 

See, here, all vautageless I stand. 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand ; 

For this is Coilantogle ford. 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 



The Saxon paused : — " 1 ne'er delayed, 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 

* t'poii a small eminence, called the Dun nf Bochastlo, and in- 
tleed (in the pliiiu itself, are some Intrenchinents whic'i have been 
tlioiiglit Roman. Tbeie is adjeu^ent to Callander a villa, ealitled 
'he Roman Camp. 



CANTO v.] THK LADY OF THE 

Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death ; 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith. 

And my deep debt for life presented, 

A better meed have well reserved : — 

Can nought but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means?" — "• No, Stranger, none! 

And hear — to fire thy flagging zeal — 

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred 

Between the living and the dead : 

' \Vho spills the foremost foeman's life. 

His party ccnquers in the strife.' " 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

" The riddle is already read. 

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff — 

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy. 

Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Stu-ling, let us go. 

When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 

Or if the King shall not agree 

To grant thee gi-ace and favour free, 

I plight mine honour, oath, and word. 

That, to thy native strengths restored, 

'With, each advantage shalt thou stand, 

That aids thee now to guard thy land.' 

XIV. 
Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye — 
" Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
Because a wretched kem ye slew, 
Homasfe to name to Rodei'ick Dbu ? 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
ITiou add'st but luel to my hate — 
My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared ? By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valour light 
A s that of some vain carpet-knight, 
Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." 
"" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; 



363 



366 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [CANTO V. 

For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, be gone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not^— which thou wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." 
Then each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 

XV. 

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu_ 
That on the field his targe he threw,* 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dashed aside ; 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield,'!' 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far. 
The Gael maintained imequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
AnilPlhrice the Saxon sword drank blood — 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide. 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
And showered his blows like wintry rain, 
And, as firm rock, a castle-roof. 
Against the winter shower is proof, 

* A round target of light wood, covered veith strong leather, 
and studded with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a High- 
laniler's equipment. A person thus armed had a considerable 
advai\tage lii private ft ay. 

+ Tlie use of defensive armour, and particularly of the buckJer 
or target, was general in Queen Elizabeth's time, although that of 
the single rapier seems to have been occasionally practised mncb 
eai'lier. 



CAI^rro v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 367 

The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's -weapon from his hand. 
And, backwards borne upon the lea, 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. 



" Now, peld thee, or, by Him who made 

The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade T' 

" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 

Let i-ecreant yield who fears to die." 

Like adder darting from his coil. 

Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 

Like mouutain-cat v.-ho guards her young 

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprang. 

Received, but reck'd not of a wound. 

And locked his arms his foeman round. 

Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 

No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 

Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 

They tug, they strain ! — down, do^\^l, they go. 

The Gael above, Fitz-James below ! 

The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd. 

His knee was planted in his breast ; 

His clotted locks he backward threw, 

Across his brow his hand he drew. 

From blood and mist to clear his sight, 

Then gleam' d^ aloft his dagger bright 1 

But hate and fury ill supplied 

The stream of life's exhausted tide, 

And all too late the advantage came. 

To turn the odds of deadly game ; 

For, Y/hile the dagger gleamed on high. 

Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 

Down came the blow ! but in the heath 

Tlie erring blade found bloodless sheath. 

The straggling foe may now unclasp 

The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 

Unwounded from the dreadful close, 

But breathless all, Fitz-James arosw. 



368 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [CANTO V, 



He faltered thanks to Heaven for life. 

Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife ; 

Next on his foe his look he cast, 

"Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 

In Roderick s gore he dippM the braid, 

" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid ; 

Yet with thy foe must die, or live, 

The praise that Faith and Valour give," 

With that he blew a bugle-note, 

Undid the collar from his throat, 

Unbonnetted, and by the wave 

Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 

Then faint afar are heard the feet 

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 

The sounds increase, and now are seen 

Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; 

Two who bear lance, and two who lead. 

By loosened rein, a saddled steed ; 

Each onward held his headlong course. 

And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse. 

With wonder viewed the bloody spot — - 

" Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. 

You, Herbert and Lutfness,. alight. 

And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 

Let the grey palfrey bear his weight, 

We destmed for a faii'er freight, 

And bring him on to Stirling straight ; 

I will before at better speed, 

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 

The sun rides high ; I must be boune 

To see ths archer-game at noon ; 

But lightly Bayard clears the lea 

De Vaux and Herries, follow me ', 



" Stand, Bayard, stand !" the steed obeyed, 
With arching neck and bended head, 
And glancing eye, and quivering ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid. 




And 8 00XL the iiiLwark of th.e XorthL, 
Gray StiTllntf. "nwHIl liex towers and toiim , 
Uport tteir fleet caieer loof d do-wn. 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF TUE LAliE. 

But -wreathed his left hand in the mane. 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turned on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirred his courage with the steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed ia air, 
The rider sate erect and fair, 
Then, like a bolt, from steel cross-ho^y 
Forth launched, along the plain they go. 
They dashed that rapid torrent through, 
And up Carhonie's hill they ilew ; 
Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, 
His merry-men followed as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride, 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendrick now are past. 
And Deanstown lies behind them cast ? 
They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair- Drumniond sees the lioofs strike fire. 
They sv.-eep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Keir ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground, 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right hand they leave thy clitfs, Craig- forth, 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Grey Stirling, with her towert; and town. 
Upon their neet career looked down. 

XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strained, 
Sudden his steed the leader reined ; 
A signal to his squire he flung, 
HTio instant to his stirrup sprung : — 
' Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman grey, 
Who town-ward holds the rocky way, 
Of stature tall and poor array ? 
jVIark'st thou the firm, yet active stride. 
With which he scales the mountain side? 
Know' St thou from whence he comes, or whom?" 
" No, by mv word ; — a burly groom 
q2 



369 



^70 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [cANTO V. 

He seems, who in the field or chase 
A Baron's train -svould nobly grace 
" " ■ fe 



Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear i 

And jealousy, no shai-per eye ? 

Afar, ere to the hill he drew, 

That stately fomi and step I knew ; 

Like form in Scotland is not seen, 

Treads not such step on Scottish green. 

'Tis James of Douglas, by saint Serle ! 

The uncle of the banished Earl. 

Away, away, to court, to show 
I The near approach of dreaded foe : 

I The king must stand upon his guard ; 

! Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

I Then right hand wheeled their steeds, and straight 

They won the castle's postern gate. 
j XX. 

The Douglas, who had bent his way 
i From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey grey. 

Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf. 

Held sad communion with himself : — • 

"■ Yes ! all is true my fears could frame : 

A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, 

And fierj" Roderick soon will feel 

The vengeance of the royal steel. 

I, only I, can ward their fate — 

God grant the ransom come not late ! 

The Abbess hath her promise given, 

My child shall be the bride of heaven ; — 

Be pardoned one repining tear ! 

For He who gave her, knows how dear. 

How excellent — but that is by. 

And now my business is to die. 

Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled. 

And thou, oh sad and fatal mound ! 

That oft has heard the death-axe sound,* 

* Stirling -n-as often polluted with noble blood. The fate of 
■William, eighth Earl of Douglas, whom James the Second staiiln- J 
in Stirling Castle with his own hand, and while under liis royal 
safe-conduct, is familiar to all who read Scottish history. Mur- 
dack, Duke of Albany, Duncan, Earl of Lennox, his father-in-law, 
and his two sons, Walter and Alexander Ste^vart, were executed 
• at Stirling in 1425, They were beheaded upon an eminence with- 

out the castle walls, but making part of tho same hill. 



CANTO v.] THE LADT OV THE LAKE. 871 

As on the noWest of tVio Isn^ 

;r. t' .? s.cra iiea^lsru^^n's hV.ody hand — 
-icf! Ti, block, and nameless tomb 

■ . ,,>'— for Douflas peeks bis doom! 
' ii-k ! Avliat b'ithe and jolW peal 
. the Fra,nciscan steeple reel? 

' ■ !■.-> ! njjcn tlr" "ro-^-derl street, 
in n "tiev groups wh?t Trss-quers Tneet 
Ijiiimer and pageant, pipe and drum, 
And merry morrice-dancers come. 
I guess, by all this quaint array. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day. 
James will be there — he loves such show, 
Where the good yeoman bends his bow, 
And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 
As well as where, in proud career. 
The high-bom tilter shivers spear, 
ril follow to the Castle-park, 
And play my prize — King James shall miirk. 
If age has tamed these sinews stark. 
Whose force so oft, in happier days. 
His bo}-ish wonder loved to praise." 

XXI. 

The Castle gates were open flimg. 

The quivering draw-bridge rocked and rung, 

And echoed loud the flinty street 

Beneath the coursers' clattering feet. 

As slowly down the deep descent 

Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 

^^'hile all along the crowded way 

Was jubilee and loud huzza. 

And ever James was bending low. 

To his v.-hite jennet's saddle bow, 

Dotiing his cap to city dame, 

Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame, 

And well the simperer might be vain — 

He chose the fairest of the train. 

* Every burjrh of Scotland, had its solemn platf, or festival, 
■when feat3 of archery were exhibited, and prizes distributed to 
those who exwlled in wrestling, hurlin,/ the bar, and the other 
eymnastic exercises of the period. James V.'s read /.participation 
m these p<'palar amusements was one cause of his acquiring tha 
title of King of the Commons. The usual prize to the best shooter 
was a silver arrow. 



372 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANlt) V. 

Gravely he greets each city sir^ 

Commends each pageant's qua!.' . ' 

Gives to the dancers thanks ak 

And smiles and nods upon the cnjv^-ii. 

Who rend the heavens with th'::r acclaims, 

"Long live the Commons' Kii'-u, King James!" 

Behind tlie King thronged peer ::m1 knight. 

And nohle dame and damsel I • i^rht. 

Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay 

Of the steep street and crowded way. i 

But in the tiain you might discern I 

Dark lowering brow and visage stem : 

There nobles mourned their pride restrained. 

And the mean burghers' joys disdained ; 

And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, 

Were each from home a banished man. 

There thought upon their own grey tower, 

Their waving woods, their feudal power, , i 

And deemed themselves a shameful part |j 

Of pageant, which they cursed in heart. i I 

XXII. 

Now in the Castle-park, drew out | ! 

Their chequered bands the joyous route. j | 

There morricers, with bell at heel, ij 

And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; ,'• 

But chief, beside the butts, there stand 

Bold Robin Hood* and all his band — ' 

Friar Tuck with quarter-staff and cowl, 

Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, ' ] 

Maid Marian, fajr as ivoiy bone. 

Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; !; 

Their bugles challenge all that will, 1 1 

In archery to prove their skill. ' | 

The Douglas bent a bow of might — I j 

His first shaft centered in the white, ' j 

And when in turn he shot again, '. [ 

His second split the first in twain. 

From tlie King's hand must Douglas take 

A silver dart, the archers' stake; 

* The -exhibition of 111 is renowned outlaw and bis band xras a 
favourite frolic in Sco'l;\tid as well as England at such ientivals a3 
we are deacribing. The ramp of Robin Hood was usually acted 



CANTO v.] THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 

Fondly he watched, -with watery eye, 
Some answering glance of sympathy — 
No kind emotion made reply ! 
Indifferent as to archer wight, 
The monarch gave the arrow bright 



Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose, 
And proud demanded mightier foes, 
Nor called in vain ; for Douglas came. 
— For life, is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 
Whom senseless home his comrades bear. 
Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring,* 
AVhile coldly glanced his eye of blue. 
As frozen drop of winter dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words suppress'd : 
Indignant then he turned him where 
Their anns the brawny yeoman bare. 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 
When each his utmost strength had shown, 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
From its deep bed, then heaved it high, 
And sent the fragment through the sky, 
A rood beyond the farthest mark ; 
And still in Stirling's royal park, 
The giey-haired sires who know the past. 
To strangers point the Douglas-cast- 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day , 



The vale with loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang ; 
The King, with look unmoved, bestowed 
A purse well filled with pieces broad. 

» The usual prize ot a wresllins was a ram ana a ring. 
no boing very poetical is omitted in the story. 



373 



374 thp: lady of the IiAKE. [ca.vto v 

Indignant smiled the Douglas proud. 
And threw the gold among the crowd: 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, 
And sharper glance, the dark grey man : 
Till whii^pers rose among the throng, 
That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas' blood belong : 
'J'he old men mark'd, and shook the head. 
To see his hair with silver spread, 
And winked aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done, 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form, 
Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm 
The youth, with awe and wonder, saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 
Till murmurs rose to clamours loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King. 
With Douglas held communion kindi, 
Or called the banished man to mind: 
No, not from those who, at the chase, 
Once held his side the honoured place. 
Begirt his board, and, in the field, 
Found safety underneath his shield , 
For he, whom royal eyes disown, 
When was his form to courtiers known ' 

XXV. 

The monarch saw the gambols flag, 

And bade let loose a gallant stag, 

Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 

Two favourite grey-hounds should pull do'^OTi. 

'i'hat venison free, and Bourdeaux wine, 

Might serve the archery to dine. 

But Lufra — whom from Douglas' side 

Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide — 

The fleetest hound in all the North, 

Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 

She left the royal hounds mid-way, 

And, dashing on the antler'd prey, 



CANTO A'.] THE LA1>Y OF TUE LAKE. 375 

Sank her sharp muzzle in his flank. 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 
Came up, and, with his leash unbound. 
In anger stnick the noble hound. 
The Douglas had endured, that mom. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud. 
Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred, 
To share his board, to watch his bed, 
And oft would EUen, Lufra's neck. 
In maiden glee, with garlands deck : 
They were such playmates, that with name 
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wi-ath is brimming high, 
In darkened brow and flashing eye ; 
As waves before the bark divide, 
The crowd gave way before his stride ; 
Meeds but a bufi"et and no more. 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal. 
Though gauntletted in glove of steeL 

XXVI. 

Then clamoured loud the royai train, 

And brandished swords and staves amain ; 

But stem the Baron's warning — " Back ! 

Back on your lives, ye menial pack ! 

Beware the Douglas. Yes ! behold. 

King James, the Douglas, doomed of old, 

And vainly sought for near and far, 

A victim to atone the war. 

A willing victim, now attends. 

Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." 

" Thus is my clemency repaid .'' 

Presumptuous Lord !" the monarch said ; 

" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 

Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man 

The only man, in whom a foe 

My woman-m^rcy would not know : 



376 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [cANTO V- 

But shall a Monarch's presence brook 

Injurious blow, and haughty look ? 

What ho ! the Captain of our Guard 1 

Give the offender htting ward. 

Break off the sports !" — for tumult rose. 

And yeoman 'gan to bend their bows — 

" Break off the sports !" he said, and frowned, 

" And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 



Then uproar wild and misarray 

Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 

The horsemen pricked among the crowd, 

Repelled by threats and insult loud ; 

To earth are borne the old and weak, 

The timorous fly, the women shriek ; 

With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 

The hardier urge tumultuous war. 

At once round Douglas darkly sweep 

The royal spears in circle deep. 

And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 

While on their rear in thunder pour 

The rabble with disordered roar. 

With grief the noble Douglas saw 

The commons rise against the law 

And to the leading soldier said, 

" Sir John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 

That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 

For that good deed, permit me then 

A word with these misguided men. 

XXVIII. 

" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet, for me, 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honour, and my cause, 
I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as must require 
The aid of your misguided ire ? 
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 
Is then my selfish rage so strong. 
My sense of public weal so low, 
That, for mean vengeance on a foei 



CANTO V.-] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 377 

Those chords of love I should unbind. 

\Miich knit my country and my kind ? 

Oh no! Believe, in yonder tower 

It will not soothe my captive hour, 

To know those spears our foes should dread, 

For me in kindred gore are red ; 

To know, in fruitless brawl begun. 

For me, that mother wails her son ; 

For me, that widow's mate expires, 

For me, that orphans weep their sires. 

That patriots mourn insulted laws. 

And curse the Douglas for the cause. 

Oh let your patience ward such ill. 

And keep your right to love me still!" 

XXIX. 

The crowd's wild fury sunk again 

In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 

With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed 

For blessings on his generous head, 

Who for his country felt alone. 

Who prized her blood beyond his own. 

Old men, upon the verge of life, 

Blessed him who staid the civil strife ; 

And mothers held their babes on high. 

The self-devoted chief to spy. 

Triumphant over wrong and ire, 

To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 

As if behind some bier beloved, 

With trailing arms and drooping head. 

The Douglas up the hill he led, 

And at the castle's battled verge, 

With sighs, resigned his honoured charge. 

XXX. 

The offended Monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling hean, 
And would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
" Oh Lennox, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this common fool ! 



378 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO V 

Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim 
With which they shout the Douglas name ? 
With like acclaim, the xulgar throaty 
Strained for King James their morning note , 
With like acclaim they hailed the day 
When tirst I broke the Douglas' sway ; 
And like acclaim would Douglas greet, 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ? 
Vain as the leaf upon the stream, 
And tickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster-thing, 
Oh who would wish to be thy king ! 

XXXT. 

" But soft ! what messenger of speed 

Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 

I guess his cognizance afar — 

What from our cousin, John of Mar?" 

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 

"Within the safe and guarded ground : 

For some foul purpose yet unknown — 

Most sure for evil to the throne — 

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick -Dhu, 

Has summoned his rebellious crew; 

'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid. 

These loose banditti stand arrayed. 

The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, 

To break their muster marched, and soon 

Y'our grace will hear of battle fought ; 

But earnestly the Earl besought, 

Till for such danger he pro^dde, 

With scanty train you will not ride." 

XXXII. 

*' Thou warn'st me I have done amiss, 
I should have earlier looked to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
Retrace with speed thy former way • 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OP IHE LAKE. 379 

Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick, this mom, in single fight. 
Was made our prisoner by a knight. 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host. 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel. 
For their Chiefs crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly." 
He turned his steed — " My liege, I hie. 
Yet, ere I cross this lily l&wm, 
I fear the broad-swords will be drawn.'* 
The turf the Hying courser spurned. 
And to his towers the King returned. 



111 with King James's mood that day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng. 
And soon cut snort the festal song. 
Nor less upon the saddened iown 
The evening sank in sorrow down , 
The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
Of rumoured feuds and mountain war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms : the Douglas too, 
They mourned him pent within the hold 
" W here stout Earl William was of old ;^ 
And there his word the speaker staid, 
And finger on his lip he laid. 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen from the west, 
At evening to the castle pressed ; 
And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore 5 

• Stabbed by James IT. in Stirling Castle. 



380 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VI, 

At noon the deadly fray begun, 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumour shook the town, 
Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance. 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care. 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 

Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 
Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; . 

Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance. 
And warning student pale to leave his pen, 
And yield his di-owsy eyes to the kind nurse of men. 

What various scenes, and oh ! what scenes of woe. 

Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam ! 
The fevered patient, from his pallet low, 

Through crowded hospital beholds it stream ; 

The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, 
The debtor wakes to thoughts of gyve and jail, 

The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting di-eam: 
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble 

wail. 

II. 

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon clang, 
While dnims, with rolling note, foretell 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement barr'd, 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Gruard, 
And, struggling with the smoky air, 
Deadened the torches' yellow glare. 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 381 

In comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blackened stone. 
And snowed wild shapes in garb of war. 
Faces defomied with beard and scar, 
All haggard from the midnight watch, 
And fevered with the stern debauch; 
For the oak table's massive board, 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. 
And bealvers drained, and cups o'erthrown. 
Showed in what sport the night had Hown. 
Some, weary, snored on iloor and bench ; 
Some laboured still their thirst to quench ; 
Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands 
O'er tlie huge chimney's dying brands, 
While round them, or beside them flung, 
Ac evtiy step their harness rung. 

III. 
These drew not for their fields the sword. 
Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
Nor owned the pritxiarchal claim 
Of chieftain in their leader's name , 
Adventurers* they, from far who roved. 
To live by battle which they loved. 
There the Italian's clouded face, 
The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 
The mountain-loving Switzer there 
More freely breathed in mountain-air. 
The Heming there despised the soil, 
That paid so ill the labourer's toil; 
Their rolls showed French and German name •, 
And merry England's exiles came. 
To share, with ill-concealed disdain. 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well trained to "wield 
The heavy halbert, brand, and shield; 
In camps, licentious, wild, and bold; 
In pillage, fierce and uncontrolled ; 
And now, by holytide and feast. 
From rules of discipline released. 



* James V. seems first to have introduced, in addition to the 
national militia, the service of a small mimtier of mercenaries, who 
formed a body-guard, called the Foot-Band, 



382 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VL 



They held debate of bloody fray, 

Fought 'twixt Loch-Katrine and Achray. 

Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words, 

Their hands oft grappled to their swords ; 

Nor sank their tone to spare the ear 

Of wounded comrades groaning near, 

Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, 

Bore token of the mountain sword. 

Though, neighbouring to the court of guard. 

Their prayers and feverish Avails were heard ;— 

Sad burdened to the ruffian joke. 

And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 

At length upstarted John of Brent, 

A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 

A stranger to respect or fear. 

In peace a chaser of the deer. 

In host a hardy mutineer, 

But still the boldest of the crew. 

When deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day their games cut short, 

And marr'd the dicers' brawling sport, 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl ! 

And, while a merry catch I troll, 

Let each the buxom chorus bear. 

Like brethren of the brand and spear," 



SOLDIER S SONG. 

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 

Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl. 

That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black jack, 

And seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack : 

Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off Avith thy liquor. 

Drink upsees* out, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 

The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip. 

Says, that Belzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly, 

And ApoUyon shoots darts from her meny black eye ; 

Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the quicker. 

Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar 1 

* A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the DutcJi, 



CAI^TO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 383 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he not 
For the dues of his cure are the placket ami pot ; 
And 'tis right of his otiice poor laymen to lurch, 
Who infringe the domains of our good mother Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! otf with your liquor, 
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a tig for the xicax ! 

VI. 

The warder's challenge heard without, 

Stayed in mid roar the merry shout. 

A soldier to the portal went — 

'"■ Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent : 

And, beat for jubilee the drum ! 

A maid and minstrel with him come 

Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarr'd. 

Was entering now the court of guard, 

A harper with him, and, in plaid 

All muffled close, a mountain maid. 

Who backward shrank to 'scape the view 

Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 

" What news?' they roare<l : — " I only know. 

From noon till eve we fought with foe. 

As wild and as untameable. 

As the rude mountains where they dwelL 

On both sides store of blood is lost. 

Nor much success can either boast." 

"■ But whence thy captives, friend.^ such spoil 

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 

Old dost tkou wax, and wars grow sharp . 

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp. 

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 

The leader of a juggler band."* 

VII. 

" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine 
After the tight, these sought our line. 
That aged harper and the girl. 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I should purs-ey them steed, 
And bring them hitherward with speed. 

* The jongleurs cr jugglers were -wont to travel the cotincry, 
atteuded by a woman called a glee-maiden, who amused the com- 
pany by dancinor aud tumbling, and frequently an ape that diverted 
tjiem with its tricks. 



384 THE LADY OF THE LAKK [CANTO Vt 

Forbe?.r your mirth and rude alarm, 

For none shall do them shame or harm." 

" Hear ye his boast !" cried John of Brent, 

Ever to strife and jangling bent; 

" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, 

And yet the jealous niggard grudge 

To pay the forester his fee ? 

I'll nave my share howe'er it be, 

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 

Bertram his forward step withstood; 

And, burning in his vengeful mood, 

Old Allan, though unlit for strife, 

Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ; 

But Ellen boldly stepp'd between. 

And dropp'd at once the tartan screen ; 

So, from his morning cloud, appears 

The sun of May, through summer tears. 

The savage soldiery, amazed. 

As on descended angel gazed ; 

Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed. 

Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 



Boldly she spoke — " Soldiers, attend ! 
My father was the soldier's friend ; 
Cheered him in camps, in marches led. 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the strong, 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." 
Answered De Brent, most forward still 
In every feat or good or ill, 
■' I sliame me of the part I played ; 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid I 
An outlaw I by Forest laws, 
And merry Needwood knows the cause; 
Poor Rose — if Rose be living now" — 
He waped his iron eye and brow, 
" Must bear such age, I think, as thou. 
Hear ye, my mates ; I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halbert on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halberfc o'er. 



CANTO VL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 385 

To do the maid injurious part, 
My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough." 

IX. 
Their Captain came, a gallant young-— 
(Of Tullibaidine's house he sprung) : 
is^or wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 
Gay was his mien, his humour light, 
And, though by courtesy controlled. 
Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 
The high-bom maiden ill could brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye ; and yet, in sooth. 
Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien. 
Ill-suited to the garb and scene, 
Might lightly bear construction strange, 
And give loose fancy scope to range. 
" Welcom.e to Stirling towers, fair maid ! 
Come ye to seek a champion's aid, 
On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 
Like errant damosel of yore? 
Does thy high quest a knight require, 
Or may the venture suit a squire i*" 
Her dark eye flashed ; she paused and sighed, 
" Oh what have I to do with pride ! — 
Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strifCj 
A suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King. 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
The royal pledge of grateful claims. 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz- James." 



The signet ring young Lewis took. 
With deep respect and altered look; 
And said — " This ring our duties own ; 
And pardon, if, to worth unknoAvn, 
In semblance mean obscurely veiled, 
Lady, in aught my folly failed. 
Soon as the day flings wide his gates, 
The King shall know what suitor waits. 



386 



THE LADY OE THE LAKE. [CANTO VI 



Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 

Repose you till his waking hour ; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your best, for service or array. 

Permit I marshal you the way." 

But, ere she followed, with the grace 

And open bounty of her race, 

She bade her slender purse be shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 

But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 

On the reluctant maideu's hold 

Forced bluntly back the protiered gold ; — 

" Forgive a haughty English heart, 

And oh, forget its rudtri part ! 

The vacant purse shall be my share, 

"Wliich in my barret-cap I'll bear, 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war. 

Where gayer crests may keep afar." 

With thanks — ^'twas all she could — the maid 

His rugged courtesy repaid. 

XI. 
When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 
" My lady safe, oh let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
Waked for his noble hou^e their IjTes, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chiefs birth begins our care; 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 
Teach the youth talef. of fight, and graco 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
Tn peace, in war, our rank we keep, 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 
Nor leave him till we pour our verse, 
A doleful tribute ! o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right — deny it not 1" 



CANTO VI.J i'HE LADY Oi' THE LAKE. 387 

" Little we reck," said John of Brent, 
" We southern men, of long descent ; 
Nor wot we how a name — a word-^ 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Y et kind my noble landlord's part- 
God bless the house of Beaudesert ! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer, 
More than to guide the labouring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Gome, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see," 



Then, from a rusted iron hook, 

A bunch of ponderous keys he took, 

Lighted a torch, and Allan led 

Through grated arch and passage dread. 

Portals they passed, where, deep within, 

Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters' din ; 

Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, 

Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 

And many an hideous engine grim. 

For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, 

By artists formed, who deemed it shame 

And sin to give their word a name. 

They halted at a low-browed porch, 

And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 

While bolt and chain he backward rolled. 

And made the bar unhasp its hold. 

They entered— 'twas a prison-room 

Of stern security and gloom. 

Yet not a dimgeon ; for the day 

Through lofty gratings found its way. 

And rude and antique garniture 

Decked the sad walls and oaken floor ; 

Such as the rugged days of old, 

Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 

" Here,'' said De Brent, "thou may'st remain 

Till the Leach visit him again. 

Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 

To tend the noble prisoner well." 

Retiring then the bolt he drew. 

And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 



388 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VI. 

Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
A captive feebly raised his head; 
The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew 
!Not his dear lord, but Roderick Ubu ! 
For, come from where Clan-Aljiine fought. 
They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought, 

XIII, 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 

Shall never stem the billows more, 

Deserted by her gallant band, 

Amid the breakers lies astrand. 

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhul 

And oft his fevered limbs he threw 

In toss abrupt, as wheu her sides 

Lie rocking in the advancing tides. 

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 

Yet cannot heave her from her seat 

Oh ! how unlike her course on sea ! 

Or his free step on hill a-nd lea ! — 

Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 

"■ What of thy lady? — of my clan? — 

My Mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me all ! 

Have they been ruined in my fall ? 

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ! 

Yet speak — speak boldly ! — do not fear." 

(For Allan, who his mood well knew. 

Was choked with -grief and terror too.) 

"Who fought? — who fled? Old man, be brief; 

Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 

Who basely live? — who bravely died?" 

" Oh, calm thee. Chief!" the Minstrel cried, 

" Ellen is safe ;" — " For that, thank Heaven l" 

" And hopes are for the Douglas given • 

The Lady Margaret too is well, 

And, for thy clan — on field or fell. 

Has never harp of minstrel told, 

Of combat fought so true and bold. 

Thy stately pine is yet unbent, 

Though many a goodly bough is rent." 

XIV. 

The Chieftain reared his form on high, 
And fever's fire was in his eye ; 



r.4NT0 VL] THl; LADY OF THE LAKE. b89 

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 

Chequered his swarthy brow and cheeks. 

— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play 

With measure bold on festal day, 

In yon lone isle . . . again where ne'er 

Shall harper play, or warrior hear . . . 

That stirring air that peals on high, 

O'er Dermid's race our victory. 

Strike it ! — and then (for well thou canst) 

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 

Fling me the picture of the fight, 

VVTien met my clan the Saxon might. 

L '11 listen, till my fancy hears 

The clang of swords, the crash of spears I 

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then. 

For the fair field of fighting men, 

And my free spirit bm-st away. 

As if it soared from battle fray." 

The trembling bard with awe obeyed — 

Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 

But soon remembrance of the sight 

lie witnessed from the mountain's height, 

■'Vith what old Bertram told at night. 

Awakened the full power of song, 

And bore him in career along ; — 

As shallop launched on river's tide. 

That slow and fearful leaves the side, 

But, when it feels the middle stream, 

Drives downward s%vift as lightning's beam. 

XV, 

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.* 
" The Minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 
For, ere he parted, he would say, 
Fai-ewell to lovely Loch-Achray — 
^Vllere shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 

* A skirmish actually took place at a pass thag called in the 
Trosacbs, and closed with the remarkable iiicideut mentioned in 
the text. It happened however so late as the invasion of Scotland 
by Olivrr Cromwell, one of whose soldiers was thus slain just as 
he had almost secured the means of cunveyauceforhis companions 
to the island at the extremity nf Loch-Katrine. His party on 
witnessing his fate, abandoned tlieir ferocious enterprise. 



390 TUE LADY OF THE LVKE. fOAKTO VI, 

There is no breeze upon the fern, 

No ripple on the lake. 
Upon her eyrie nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud. 

The springing trout lies still. 
So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud. 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 

I'hat mutters deep and dread, 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warrior's measured tread? 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 

That on the thicket streams, 
Or do they Hash on sr-enr and lance 

The sun's retiring beams ? 
— ^I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star, 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 
That up the lake comes v/inding far! 
To hero boune for battle-strife, 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life. 

One glance at their array ! 

XVI. 

" Their light-armed archers far and near 

Surveyed the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with jjike and spear, 

A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No c)-nibal clashed, no clarion rang, 

Still were the pipe and di-um ; 
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 

Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, 

Can rouse no lurking foe, 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 391 

Nor spy a trace of living thing, 

Save when they stirred the roe ; 
The host moves, like a deep sea-wave, 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 

High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse and spearmen pause. 
While, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 

XVIL 

" At once there rose so wild a yeU 
Within that dark and narrow dell. 
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell. 
Had pealed the banaer-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear: 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply— 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
And plaids and bonnets waving high. 
And broad-swords flashing to the sky. 
Are maddening in their rear. 
Onward they drive, in dreadful race, 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase. 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 
The spearmen's tAvilight wood? 
— ' Down, doA\-n,' cried Mar, ' your lances down ! 

Bear back both friend and foe !' 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay levell'd low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side. 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. 
— ' We'll quell the savage mountaineer. 
As their Tinchel* cows the game ! 



gradually narrowing, brought immense qiiantitiesof deertogether, 
which usually made desperate efforts to break through the TincheU 



392 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTC) VI 

They come as fleet as forest deer, 
We'll drive them back as tame.' 



" Bearing before them, in their course, 
The relics of the archer force, 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Right onward did Clan- Alpine come. 

Above the tide, each broad-sword bright 

Was brandishing like beam of light. 
Each targe was dark below ; 

And with the ocean's mighty swing. 

When heaving to the tempest's wing, 
They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash, 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
I heard the broad-sword's deadly clang, 
As if an hundred anvils rang ! 
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's flanlj — 

' My banner-man, aflvance ! 
I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. 

Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 
Upon them with the lance !' 
The horsemen dashed among the rout, 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 

Thej'- soon make lightsome room. 
Clan- Alpine's best are backward borne — 

\^^here, where was Roderick then ! 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was pour'd ; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steq), 

Receives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass: 



CANTO VIO THE LAJOY OF THE LAKE. 

None linger now upon the plain, 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 



'•* Now westAvarcI rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling pass within. 
Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on : its issue wait, 
Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Grey Ben-venue I soon repassed, 
Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast. 

The sun is set — the clouds are met — 
The lowering scowl of heaven 

An inky hue of livid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts cf wind from mountain glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge. 
Mine ear but heard that sullen sound, 
"VVTiich like an earthquake shook the ground, 
And spoke the stem and desperate strife 
That parts not but with parting life, 
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 

Nearer it comes — the dim- wood glen 

The mai-tial flood disgorged agen, 
But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the North, 
High on the mountain thunder forth, 

And overhang its side ; 
While by the lake below appears 
The darkening cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shattered band, 
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; 
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale, 
And broken arms and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the day. 
r2 



394 TUB LAUV Ol' THE LAKE. [ca.\ TO V^ 



" Viewins^ the mountain's ridge askance, 
Tlie Saxons stood in sullen trance. 
Till Moray pointed with his lance. 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! 
See ! none are left to guard its strand, 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
'Tis there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er. 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den. 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 
On earth his casque and corslet rang, 

He plunged him in the wave : — 
All saw the deed — the purpose knew. 
And to their clamours Ben- venue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 
The helpless females scream for fear. 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven. 
Poured dov.'n at once the lowering heaven ; 
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast, 
Her billows reared their sno^\y crest. 
Well for the swimmer swelled they high. 
To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 
For round him showered, 'mid rain and bail. 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 
In vain. He nears the isle — ^and lo I 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
— Just then a Hash of lightning came. 
It tinged the waves and strand vrith flamo *, 
I marked Duncraggan's Avidowed dame, 
Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleamed in her hand : — 
It darkened — but amid the moan 
Of waves I heard a dying groan ; — 
Another iiash ! the spearman floats 
A weltering corse beside the boats, 



CANTO VI.] THE LADT OF THE LAKE, 39& 

And the stem Matron o'er him stood. 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 
XXI. 

" ' Revenge ! revenge !' the Saxons cried. 

The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 

Despite the elemental rage, 

Again they hurried to engage ; 

But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 

Bloody with spurring came a knight, 

Sprang from his horse, and, from a crag, 

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. 

Clarion and trumpet by his side 

Rang forth a truce-note high and "wide. 

While, in the monarch's name, afar 

A herald's voice forbade the war. 

For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 

AVere both, he said, in captive hold." 

— But here the lay made sudden stand 

The harp escap'd the minstrel's liand ! 

Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 

How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy : 

At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, 

With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 

That motion ceased — yet feeling strong 

Varied his look as changed the song ; 

At length, no more his deafened ear 

The minstrel melody can hear ; 

His face grows sharp — his hands are clenched. 

As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched ; 

Set are his teeth, his fading eye 

Is sternly fixed on vacancy. 

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! — 

Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, 

While grim and still his spirit passed ; 

But when he saw that life was fled, 

He poured his wailing o'er the dead. 

XXII. 
LAMENT. 

*"• And art thou cold, and lowly laid. 
Thy foemen's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's shadfi; 



396 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VI 

For thee shall none a requiem say ! 
— For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay. 
For thee, of BothwelTs house the stay, 
The shelter of her exiled line, 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I'll wail lor Alpine's honoured pine ! 
" What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend you hill, I 
What tears of burning rage shall thrill, 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy fall before the race was won, 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
There breathes not clansman of thy line, 
But would have given his life for thine. 
Oh woe for Alpine's honoured pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again, 
Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Shall with my harp her voice combine, 
And mix her woe and tears with mine. 
To wail Clan-Alpine's honoured pine." 



Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 

Remained in lordly bower apart, 

WTiere played, with many-coloured gleams, 

Through storied pane the rising beams. 

In vain on gilded roof they fall. 

And lighten'd up a tapestried wall, 

And for her use a menial train 

A rich collation spread in vain. 

The banquet proud, the chamber gay. 

Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 

Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say, 

With better omen dawned the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

The dun deer's hide for canopy ; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared. 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 397 

While Lufra, crouching by her side. 

Her station clamied Nvith jealous pride; 

And Douglas, bent on woodland game, 

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Giicme, 

M'hose answer, oft at random made. 

The wandering of his thoughts beli-ayed — 

Those who such simple joys have known 

Are taught to prize them when they're gone. 

But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 

The window seeks with cautious tread. 

What distant music has the power 

To win her in this woeful hour ! 

'T\\-as from a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 



LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 
My idle- greyhound loathes his food, 
Jly hoi-se is weary of his stall, 
And 1 am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were as I have been. 
Hunting the hart in forests green, 
With bended bow and bloodhound free, 
For that's the life is meet for me. 

I hate to learn the ebb of time. 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime. 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These toAvers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 

No more at daAvming mom I rise. 
And sun ravself in Ellen's eyes, 
Drive the lleet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend v;itli evening dew; 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While Hed the eve on wing of glee — 
That life is lost to love ajid me F' 



398 



THE LAHY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO TL 



The heart-sick lay was hardly said. 

The list'ner had not turned her head. 

It trickled still, the starting tear, 

When light a footstep struck her ear, 

And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. 

She turned the hastier, lest again 

The prisoner should renew his strain. 

" Oh welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said ; 

" HoAV may an almost orphan maid 

Pay the deep debt." " Oh say not so 

To me no gratitude you owe. 

Not mine, alas ! the boon to give. 

And bid thy noble father live ; 

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, 

With Scotland's King thy suit to aid 

No tjTant he, though ire and pride 

May lead his better mood aside. 

Come, Ellen, come ! — 'tis more than time ; 

He holds his court at morning prime." 

With beating heart, and bosom wrung. 

As to a brother's arm she clung. 

Gently he dried the falling tear, 

And gently whispered hope and cheer ; 

Her faltering steps half led, half staid, 

Through gallery fair and high arcade, 

Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 

A portal arch unfolded wide. 



Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright ; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even. 
And, from their tissue, fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid 
A few faint steps she forward m.ade, 
Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 399 

For him she sought, who o-\vned this state, 

The dreaded prince whose will was fate J 

She gazed on many a princely port, 

Might well have ruled a royal court ; 

On many a splendid garb she gazed — 

Then turned bewldered and amazed. 

For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 

Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 

To him each lady's look was lent. 

On him each courtier s eye was bent ; 

Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen. 

He stood, in simple Lincoln green, 

The centre of the glittering ring — • 

And Sno wdoun's Knight is Scotland's King 1* 

XXVII. 
As wreath of snow on mountain breast, 
Slides from the rock that gave it rest. 
Poor Ellen glided from her stay. 
And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 
No word her choking voice commands — 
She showed the ring — she clasped her hands. 
Oh ! not a moment could he brook. 
The generous prince, that suppliant look ! 
Gently he raised her — and the while 
Checked with a glance the circle's smile. 
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed. 
And bade her terrors be dismissed — 
" Yes, Fair ; the •wandering poor Fitz-James 
The fealty of Scotland claims. 
To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring 
He will redeem his signet ring. 
^Ask nought for Douglas — yester even, 
His prince and he have much forgiven : 
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 
I from his rebel kinsmen, -wrong. 
We would not to the vulgar crowd 
Yield what they craved with clamour loud ; 

* James V., from his anxious attention to the interests of the 
lower au(i most oppressed class of his subjects, was as we hare 
seen, popularly terined the King of the Commons. For the pur- 
pose ot seeing that justice was regularly aciministereil, and fre- 
quently fi'om the less justifiable motive' of gallantry, lie used to 
travfirse the «cina^e of his several palaces in %-arious •iii^iuf.es. 



iOO TUE LADY OF THE LAKE. [C. 

Calmly "\ve heard and judged bis cause. 
Our council aided and our laws. 
I stanched thy father's death-feud stern, 
With stout De Vaux and grey Glencairn ; 
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 
The friend and bulwark of our Throne. 
But, lovely infidel, how now ? 
What clouds th)' misbelieving brow? 
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 
Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 

XXVIII. 

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 

.And on his neck hi3 daughter hung. 

The Monarch drank, that happy hour. 

The sweetest, holiest draught of power — • 

"NMien it can say, with godlike voice, 

Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 

Yet would not James the general eye 

On nature's raptures long should pry ; 

He stepp'd between — " Nay, Douglas, nay. 

Steal not my proseljiie away ! 

The riddle 'tis my right to read, 

That brought this happy chance to speed. 

Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray, 

In life's more low but happier way, 

'Tis under name which veils my power. 

Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tov/er 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,* 

And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 

Thus learn to right the injured cause." 

Then, in a tone apart and lov\r, 

— " Ah, little trait' ress ! none must know 

What idle dream, what lighter thought, 

W^hat vanity full dearly bought. 

Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 

I/Iy spell-bound steps to Ben-venue, 



* William of Worcester, -Tvho wrote about the middle of the 
fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle faiowdoun. It was pro- 
bably derived from the romantic legend whicli connected sstirliug 
with King Arthur, to which the mention of the round table gives 
Cflunteuiince. 



CANTO VL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 

In dangerous tour, and all but gave 
Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive T' 
Aloud he spoke — " Thou still dost hold 
Thn.t little talisman of gold, 
Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring — 
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?" 



Full well the conscious maiden guessed, 

He probed the weakness of her breast ; 

But, with that consciousness, there came 

A lightening of her fears for Graeme, 

And more she deemed the monarch's ire 

Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, 

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 

And to her generous feeling true. 

She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 

" Forbear thy suit : — the King of kings 

Alone can stay life's parting wings. 

I know his heart, I know his hand. 

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand ;— 

My fairest earldom would I give 

To bid Clan- Alpine's Chieftain live I 

Hast thou no other boon to crave ? — 

No other captive friend to save ?" 

Blushing, she turned her from the King 

And to the Douglas gave the ring. 

As if she wished her sire to speak 

The suit that stained her glowing cheek. 

•' Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 

And stubborn justice holds her course. 

Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at the word, 

IM^vn kneel'd the Grteme to Scotland's Lord, 

' ■ For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 

From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 

Who, nurtured underneath our smile. 

Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, 

And sought amid thy faithful clau, 

A refuge for an outlawed man. 

Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. 

Fetters and warder for the Graeme !'' 

His chain of gold the King unstrung, 

The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, 



401 



402 THE LADT OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VL 

Then gently drew the glittering band, 
And laid tne clasp on Ellen's hand. 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark. 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spa.rk, 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 

Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 
And the wild breeze, thv wilder minstrelsy; 

Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending, 
With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing 
bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Hai"p 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 

Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 
Through secret woes the world has never known. 

When on the weary night dawned wearier day. 
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire. 
Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 

'Tis now a Seraph hold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the bi-ush of Fairy's frolic .ving. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 

And now, 'tis silent alll — Enchantress, faro-thee-well I 



THE 



YISION OF DON RODERICK. 



Thk foUoTving poem is founded upon a Spanish tradition. T>arti- 
cularly detailed in the notes ; but bearing, iii general, that i)on 
Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the invasion of the 
Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend into an ancient, 
vault, near Toledo, the opening of wmch had been denounced as 
fatal to the Spanish monarchy. The legend adds, that liis rash 
curiosity was mortified by an emblematical representation of those 
Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in battle, and reduced 
Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the vision 
01 the revolutions of ispain down to the present eventful crisis of 
the Peninsula; and to divide it, by a supposed change of scene, 
into three peo-iods. The first of these represents the invasion of the 
Moors, the defeat and death of Rodericlc, and closss with the 
peaceful occupation of the country by the victors. The second 
period embraces the state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of 
the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had 
raised to the highest pitch the reno%vn of their arms ; suUied, how- 
ever, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities 
of the Inquisition terminates this picture. The last part of the 
poem opens with the >tate of Spain pre\'ious to the unparalleled 
treachery of Buonaparte ; ^ves a sketch of the usurpation at- 
tempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and ter- 
minates with thearrival ef the British succours. It may be farther 
proper to mention, that the object of the poem is less to com- 
memorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a general 
and impressive picture of the several periods brought upon the 
stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by 
one who has already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, 
to offer any apology for the infenor^ty of the poetry to the subject 
it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet I thmk it proper to 
mention, that, while I was hastily executing a work, written for 
a temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task was most 
cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord President 
Blair, and Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished chai;ac- 
ters, I had not only to regret persons whose Uves were most im- 
portant to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured 
my entrance upon active life; and I may add, with melajicholy 
pride, who permitted my more advanced age to claim no common 
share in their friendship. Under such interruptions, the following 
verses, which my best and happiest efforts must have left far un- 
worthy of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appearance 
of negligence and incoherence, whicti, In other circumstances, I 
might have been able to retaove. 

Edikbubob, JtMM Mk 181 1. 



THE 

VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



QUID DIONUM aVTiMOBARE TUIS, HISPANIA, TKBBia, 
TOX HOMANA VALET. CLAUDIA 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting 

May rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war, [tire, 
Or died it with yon master of the lyre, 

Who sung beleaguer'd liion's evil star? 
Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar, 

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar. 

All as it swell'd twixteach loud trumpet-change. 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge ! 

II. 

Yes ! such a strain, with all-o'erpowering measure. 

Might melodize with each tumultuous sounds 
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure. 

That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest croAvn'd, 

The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan. 
The shout of captives from their chains unbound, 

The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A. nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

III. 
But we weak minstrels of a laggard day, 
Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, 



406 THE VISION OV DON RODERICK. 

Timid and raptureless, can "we repay 

The debt thou claim' st in this exhausted age? 
Thou giv'st our lyres a theme, that might engage 
Those that could send thy name o'er sea and 
land, 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 
A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand — 
How much unmeet for us. a faint degenerate band ! 

ir. 

Ye mountains stern ! -within whose rugged breast 

The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 

ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed 

their rest, 

Returning from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 

Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, 

That erst the choir of bards or druids flung, 
What time their hymn of victory arose. 

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph 
rung. 
And mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hair'd Lly- 
warch sung.'* 



O ! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain. 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again. 

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant hay. 

Then lend the note to him has loved you long 
Who pious gather'd each tradition gi-ey, 

That floats your solitary wastes along. 
And Avith affection vain gave them new voice in song, 
VI. 
For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, 

* Mwch of tlie ancient poetry, preserved in Wales, ref?rs to 
events wliich happened in the North-west of England and Smth- 
vvesl of Scotland, where the Britons for a loj'g time made a stand 
against the Saxons. — Lly-vvarch, the celebrated bard <.iid ni anarch, 
was Prince of Argoon, in Cumberland ; and his you'hrul exploits 
were performed upon the Border, although in his aj<e he was 
driven into Powys by the successes of the An<;lo- Saxons. As tor 
Merlin Wyllt, or the Sav;ige, his name of Caledcmian, and hie re- 
treat into the Caledonian wood, appropriates him to Scotlaud, 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICE. 407 

From muse or sylvan was he wont to asK. 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air,— 

They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer ; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name. 

VII. 

Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer toss'd : 

" Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre. 
Capricious swelling now. m.ay soon be lost, 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire i 
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due; 
Age after age has gathered son to sire. 

Since our grey clitis the din of conflict knew. 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blevr. 

VIII. 
" Decay'd our old traditionary lore. 

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring. 

By milk-maid seen beneath the hav.-thorn hoar. 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted 

spring :* [sing. 

Save where their legends gi-ey-hair'd shepherds 

That now scarce win a listening ear but thine. 
Of feuds obscure, and border ravaging, 
And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. 

IX. 

'•' No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 
Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 

Where the rude villager, his labour done, 

In verse spontaneous^ chants some favom-'d 
name ; 



» A copious fountain upon the ridgre of l\finchniore, called the 
Clieesevrell, is supposed to be sacred to the faiiies, and it ^vas cus- 
tomary to propitiate them bv thr'r.ving in something Ufoii pas-^ 
vag it. 

t The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languacfes, renilers 
these countries distingui^hid f^n tin- talent of improvisalion. 



408 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim 
Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; 

Or -vvhetlier, kindling at the deeds of Gncme,* 
He sing, tO wild JNlorisco measure set, 
Old Albln's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet ! 



" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of Avild Nevada ever gleams with snows. 
Where in the proud Alhanibra's ruined breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the tierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
FroniAvhose tall towers even now the patriot tlirowR 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 



" There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 

Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye; 
The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 

Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune fought 
and died. 

XII. 

" And cherish'd still by that unchanging race, 

Are themes for minstrelsy more high than tliine ; 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade, 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line. [said : 

Go, seek such theme !" — The Mountain Spirit 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obev'd. 



* The name of Griihame, in England is utjiially pronoiiu'.'^'ti :is 8 
disEyllable. 



THE VISION OF DON RODEUICK. 



THE VISION. 
I, 
Reaktng their crests amid the cloudless skies. 
And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise. 

As from a tremhling lake of silver ■white; 
Tlieir mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretched beloW? 
And nought disturbs th« silence of the night ; 
All sleeps in sullen shodo, or silver glow, 
All save the neavy swell of Tele's ceaseless flow. 

II. 

All save the ntshing swell of Teio's tide. 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride. 

To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp, 
For, through the river's night- fog rolling damp, 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
"VS'^hich glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair 

Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, [lamp. 
And standards proudly pitch' d, and warders arm d 
between. 



But of tl-eir Monarch's person keeping ward, 

Since last the deep- mouth d bell of vespers toll'd. 
The chosev; soldiers of the royal guard 

Their post beneath the proud Cathedral hold: 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts, and casques bedeck'd with gold, 

While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's 
nlace. 



In the light language of an idle coirrt. 

They murmur'd at their master's long delay, 

And held his lengthen'd orisons in sport : [stay, 
" What ! will Don Roderick here till morning 



410 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

To -wear in shrift and prayer the night away? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past 

For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay?"* 

Then to the east their weary eyes they cast. 

And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer forth 

at last. 



But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing. 

Such as are lothly utter d to the air, 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom -wring, 

And Guilt his secret burthen cannot bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from 
Despair. 

VI. 

Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair. 

The stream of failing light was feebly roU'd ; 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, 

Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told, 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, 
That mortal man his bearing should behold, 

Or boast that he had seen, wheu conscience shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's 
look. 

TIT. 

The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale, 
As many a secret sad the king bewi-ay'd ; 

And sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, 
W^hen in the midst his faltering whisper staid. 



* The invasion of the Moors is generally attributed to the for- 
cible violation committed by Roderick upon Florinda, called by 
the Moors, Caba, or Cava, the daughter of Count Julian. In his 
indignation Julian formed an alliance with the Moors, and coun- 
tenanced the invasion of Spain I y a body ot Saracens and Africans, 
commanded by the celebrated Tjirik ; the issue of which was the 
defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost the 
whole peninsula by the enemy. 



PHK VISION OF DON BODEBICK. 411 

*' Thus royal Witiza* was slain," — he said ; 
" Yet, holy father, deem not it was I."— 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade — 
" O rather deem 'twas stem necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. 

VIII. 

" And, if Florinda's shrieks alarm'd the air. 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain. 
And on her knees implored that I would spare, 

Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! — 
All is not as it seems — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood :" 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, 

Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood- 
He stay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate 
stood. 

IX. 

** O harden'd offspring of an iron race ! 

"What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say ? 
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away I 
For the foul ravisher how shaU I pray, [boast ? 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, 

Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host. 
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be 
lost." — 

X. 

Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, 

And to his brow return'd its dauntless gloom ; 
"And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for blood. 

For treason treacherj', for dishonour doom ! 
Yfet will I know whence come they, or by whom. 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key, 
And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious room. 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." — 

» The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
slain by his connivance, as is affirmed by Rodriguez of Toledo, the 
father of Spanish history. 



412 THE VISION OF DOS ROT; RICK. 

XI 
" Ill-fated prince ! recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen lliou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford 

IS'ever to former Monarch entrance- way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, 

Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine. 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." — 

XII. 
— " Prelate ! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay ! 

Lead on !" — The ponderous key the old man took. 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desjierate King e>say'd, 
Low nmtter'd thunders the Cathedral shook. 
And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort made, 
Till the huge bolts rolrd back, and the loud hinges 
bray'd. 

XIII. 
Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 

Ro<^f, walls, and Hi)or, were all of marble stone^ 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall. 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown, 
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
not si)y ; 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then w ere seen by mortal eye. 

XIV. 
Grim sentinels, against the upper wall. 

Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their statuie tail, 

Their frowning foreheads golden ciiclts grace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race, 

That lived and siim'd before the avenging Hood ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 413 

This grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 
This spread his -wings for flight, that pondering 
stood, 
Each stubborn seem'd and stern, immutable of mood. 

XV. 

FixM was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book, 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was Avrote of many a falling land, 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven; 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season given," — 

XVI. 
Even -while they read, the sand-glass wastes away ; 

And, as the last and lagging grains did creep. 
That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway, 

As one that startles from a hea\"y sleep. 
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder, 
And, hurling down at once, in crumbled heap, 
The marble boundary was rent asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and 
wonder. 



For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, 

Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid. 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each. 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray'd: 
Here, cross'd by many a wild Sierra's shade. 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye; 
There, rich with %'ineyard and with olive-glade. 

Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high, 
Or wash'd bv mighty streams, that slowly mur- 
mur d by. 



And here, as erst upon the antique stage 
Pass'd forth the bands of masquers trimly led. 



414 THE VISION OF DON EODERICK. 

In various forms, and various equipage, 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene, 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, 

And issue of events that had not been ; [tween. 
And ever and anon strange sounds Viere heard be- 
XIX. 
First shrill'd an unrepealed female shriek! — 

It seemM as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. — 

Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal, 
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelies yell,* 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell — 
" The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the 
tocsin bell ! 

XX. 
"They come ! they come ! I- see the groaning lands 

White with' the turbans of each Arab horde, 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, 

Alia and Mahomet their battle-word. 
The choice they yield the Koran or the sword. — 
See how the Christians rush to arms amain ! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd ; 
The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain — 
Now, God and St lago strike, for the good cause of 
Spain !" 

XXI. 
" By heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians 
yield ! — 
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 
Is not yon steed Orelia ? — Yes, 'tis mine !'t' 

* The tecbir, (derived from the words ^lla achar, G"d is most 
Blighty,) was the oiigiual war-cry of the Saracens. I lie I.clie, 
well known to the Christians diirir.^ t!ie criisadi;?, is the shout of 
uilUi ilia AHa^ tlie Mahoinedan coiiression of faith. 

+ In the lattle of Xeres (jiu;. ht by Don Koderick against the 
Moors AD. 7H. the Spaniards were defeated witii sreat slaughrer, 
and tlie king himself was drowned in the Xeres while crossing it 
in his flight. Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, was celebrated 
for her speed and form. 



TILE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 415 

But never was she turn'd from battle line ; — 

Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er slock and 

Curses pursue the slave and wrath divine ! [stone 1 

Rivers engulf him!" — "Hush," in shuddering 

tone. 

The Prelate said ; " rash Prince, yon vision'd form's 

thine own." — 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 
But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide ; 
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, 

As numerous as their native locust band ; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, 

With naked scimitars mete out the land, 
And for their bondsmen 'oase the freeborn natives 
brand. 

XXIII. 
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials to their misbelie\-ing foes, 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown. 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 
Echoed, for holy hjTnn and organ tone, 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering 
moan. 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one who spies 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable 
woof. 
And hears around his children's piercing cries, 

Ard sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, 

His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief ; 
And, while above him nods the crumbling roof, 

He curses earth and heaven — himself in chief — 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief ! 



416 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 



Tbat scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass, 

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass. 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, 

Bazars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, 

And on the land an evening seem'd to set, 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque oi 
minaret. 

XXVI. 

So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came, i 

The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke, i 

Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by slieets 
of flame ; 
With ever)' flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their 
yoke. 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gon- 
falone ! 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke. 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder waa 
her tone. 

XXVIl. 

Prom the dim landscape roll the clouds away — 

The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray, 

And many a monastery decks the sta^e. 
And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — - 
The Genii these of Spain for many an age ; 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, 
And that was Valour named, this Bigotry was 
hight. 

XXVIII. 

Valour was hamess'd like a Chief of old, 

Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest •, 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



417 



His sword was tempei-'d in the Ebro cold, 
Morena's eagle-plume adoru'd his crest, 

The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. 

Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his 

As if of mortal kind to brave the best. [g-^ge, 

Hinj foliov.-'d his Companion, dark and sage. 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and lang-uage proud as proud might be, 
Vaunting his lordsliip, lineaEfe, tights and fame, 

Yet was that bare-foot Monk more proud than 
A.nd as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, [he ; 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renown'd. 
Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd 
the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless Knight, 

Who ne'er to King or Kaisar veiFd his crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight. 

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right nor of the vnong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 



XXXI. 

Oft his proud galleys sought some new found world, 

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurl'd, — • 

Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs Avorn. 

Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, [foul; 
Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stoins, and smiled beneath 
his cowl. 

S2 



418 THE VISIOxV OF DON RODERICK. 

XXXII. 

Then did he bless the offering, and bade make 

Tribute to heaven of gratitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake, 

And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire : 
The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, 

And shrieks of agony confound the quire. 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes 
expire. 

XXXIII, 

Preluding light, were strains of music heard, 

As once again revolved that measured sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared, 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band ; 
When for the light Bolero ready stand 

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met,* 
He conscious of his broider'd cap and band. 

She of her netted locks and light corsette, 
Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the Castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And well such strains the opening scene became ; 

For Valour had relaxed his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame. 

Lay stretch' d, full loth the weight of anns to 
brook ; 
And soften'd BiGOTRY, upon his book, 

Patter'd a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, 

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from village-green the merry Seguidiile. 



Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil. 
Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold. 

And careless saw his rule become the spoil 
Of a loose Female and her Minion bold ; 

* The Bolero is a very light and active dance, much practised 
by the Spaniards, in which castanets are always used. Jlfozo and 
Muchacha are equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 



*ir 



THE VISION' OP DON RODERICK. 



419 



But peace was on the cottage and the fold. 

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far , 
Beneath the chesnut tree Love's tale was told ; 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the even- 
ing star. 

XXXVI. 

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 

Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts liad been, 

Limning with purple and with gold its shroud. 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene, 

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud — 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howl'd 
aloud ; — 

XXXVII. 

Even so upon that peaceful scene was pour'd, 

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, 
And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword. 

And offer' d peaceful front and open hand ; 
Veiling the perjured treachery he piann'd, 

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, 
Until he won the passes of the land ; 
Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's 
ties! 
He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain 
his prize. 

XXXVIII. 
An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 

And well such diadem his heart became, 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 

Or check'd his course for piety or shame ; 
Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's' fame 

Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, 
Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name; 

Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. 



420 IHE VISION OF DON UODERICK- 

XXXIX. 

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came : 

The sjDark, that, from a suburb hovel's heartli 
Ascending, -wraps some capital in ilame. 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 

The sable land-Hood from some swamp obscure, 
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, 

And by destruction bids its fame endure, 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and imr)ure. 



Before that Leader strode a shadoA%7' Form : 

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showM, 
With which she beckon'd him through hght and 
storm, 
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road. 
Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor lookd on what he 
trode ; 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not 
slake, 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad— 
It was Ambition bade his terrors wake, 
Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take, 

XLI 

No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge, 

Or stay'd her hand for conquei-'d foeman's moan, 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, 

By Caesar's side she cross d the Rubicon ; 
Nor joy d she to bestow the spoils she won. 

As when the banded powers of Greece were task'd 
To war beneath the Youth of Macedon : 

No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd, 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend un- 
mask' d. 

XLII. 

That Prelate mark'd his march — On haimers blazed 
With battles won in many a distant land, 

On eaglo-standards and on arms he gaz'd ; 
" And hop'st thou, then," he said, " thy power 
shall stand ? 



TUE VT?TnN OF DON RODERICK. 421 

O thou hast builded on the shiftiug sand. 

And thou hast temper'd it v»ith slaughter's flood ; 

And know, fell scourge in the Airnighty's hand! 

Gore-moisten''d trees shall perish in the bud, 

And, by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood T' 

XLiir. 

The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel. 
And paled his temples with the crovai of Spain, 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, " Cas^ 
tile!"* 
Not that he loved him — No ! — in no man's weal, 

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel. 

That the poor puppet might perform his part, 
And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 

XUV, 
But on the Natives of that Land misused, 

Not long the silence of amaze:neut hung, 
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused ; 
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, "•Toai'msl" andfast to.arms they sprung. 

And Valour woke, that Genius of the' land! 
Pleasure, and ease, and slotli, aside he flung. 
As burst the awakening Nazarite his band. 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his 
dieadful hand. 

XLY. 

That mimic ^Monarch now cast anxious eye 

Upon the Satraps that be^iit him round, 
Now doff d his royal robe in act to fly, 

And from his brow the diadem unbound 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa s mountains blowni 
These martial satellites hard labour found. 

To guard awhile his substituted throne — 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

* The heralds at the coronation of a Spanish monarch pro^Iairn 
his name three times, and repeal three times the word Caslilla, 
Outilla, Oirtilla / 



422 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 



From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 

And it was echoed from Corunna's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung, 

Granada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight orfall, 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met 
Fast started to his gun each tiery Miquelet. 

XLVII. 

But unappaird, and burning for the fight, 
The Invaders march, of victory secm-e ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilfvd less, cheap conquest to ensure. 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 

While nought against them bring the unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for free- 
dom's blow. 

XLVIII. 

Proudly they march — but ! they march not forth 

By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, 
As when their eagles, sweeping through the jSorth, 

Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain; 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, 
New Patriot armies started horn the slain, 

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide. 
And oft the God of Battles bless' d the righteous side, 

XLIX. 

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
Remain'd their savage waste. AVith blade and 
brand. 

By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale. 
But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 

Came like night's teini)est, and avenged the land, 
And claim'd for blood the retribution due. 



THE VISION OP DON KODKjRICK. 423 

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murderous 
hand; 
And Davra, when o'er the scene her beams she 
threw, 
'Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' corpses knew. 
L. 
What Minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, 

Amid the visiou'd strife from sea to sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honour 'd in defeat as victor}- ! 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show'd ever}' form of tight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Kuin, shouting forih their glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud. 
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd 
with blood ! 

LI. 
Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honour due ! 
For never hath the harp of minstrel rung, 
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatterVi ruins knew 

Each art of war's extremity had room. 
Twice from thyhalf-sack'd streets the foe %vithdrew. 
And when at length stem Fate decreed thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 
tomb.* 

LIl. 
Yet raise thy head, sad City ! Though in chains, 
Enthrall 'd thou canst not be ! Arise and claim 
Beverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, 
For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted Dame, 
She of the Column, honour'd be her name. 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love ! 
And like tlie sacred relics of the flame. 
That gave some martyr to tlie blest above, 
To ever}- loyal heart may thy sad embers prove ! 

* The interesting- account of Mr Vaaghan has made most readers 
acquainted with the first siege of Zarafjoza, The last and fatal siege 
of that gallant and deviled city is detailed with great eloquence 
and prt>3ision in the "Edinburgh Annual Kegister" lor 1S09. 



124 THE VlSIOrC OP DON RODERICK. 



Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 

FaitMul to death thy heroes should be sun^. 
Manning the towers while o'er their heads tlie aii 

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ; 
Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung. 

Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's ftiire, 
Now arch'd with hre-sparks as the bomb was Hung, 

And reddening now vfith contiagration's glare. 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. 



While all around was danger, strife, and fear. 

While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, 
And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, 

Appaird the heart, and stupitied the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry. 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, 
Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats high, 

Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight, 
A nd bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. 



Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud — 

A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
For where the oceaJi mingled with the cloud, 

A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St George's symbol flow'd, 

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 
Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd. 

And tlash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, 
And the wild beach return'dthe seaman's jovial cheer. 

LVI. 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite. 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores. 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars. 

Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, 



I'HK VIsIO-N Ol' DOS UoUKillCK. 4:25 

Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, 
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean 
come! 

LVII. 
A Yarious host they came — ^whose ranks display 

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright. 
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing 
mead. 
Lacks not artillery breathing liame and night. 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed. 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed, 

LTIII. 

A various host — ^from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in reno^\^l — 
For yon fair bands shall merrj' England claim, 

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, 

And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause. 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause. 
And freebom thoughts, which league the Soldier 
with the Laws. 



And O ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's laud ! 

Yonder your ^nnets nod, your tartans wave! 
The rugged fomftnay mark the mountain band. 

And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave 

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 

And level for the charge your arms are laid. 
Where li%es the desperate foe, that for such onset 
staid! 

LX. 

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings. 
Mingling wdld mirth with war's stem minstrelsy, 



126 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

His jestwliile each blithe comrade round him flings,, 

And moves to death with military glee: 
Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, 
In kindness warm, and lierce in danger known, 
Rough Natui-e's children, humorous as she : 
And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest 
tone 
Of thy bold harp, gi-een Isle ! — the Hero is thine own, 

LXI. 

Now on the scene Vimeira should be sho^vn, 
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze. 
And hear Corunna wail her battle won, 

And see Busaco's crest with light'ning blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ? 
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs 
room? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays, 
That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's 
tomb ! 

LXII. 

Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope. 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurPd, 
While kindling Nations buckle on their mail. 

And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings un- 
furl'd, 
To freedom and revenge awakes an injured World. 

LXIII. 

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast. 

Since Fate has mark'd futurity her owu : — 
Yet Fate resigns to W orth the glorious past. 

The deeds recoi'ded and the laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone. 

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my braiu, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the si:n. 

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 427 

CONCLUSION. 
I. 

**WTio shall command Estrella's mountain-tide 

Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie ? 
Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide. 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's ciy? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And wlien the torrent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby. 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding 
Stay. 

II. 

" Else, ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 

They close their wings, th^ s}Tnbol of our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelm 'd yon red-cross 
Power ! ' — 

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's leader spoke. 

While downward on the land his legions press, 
Before them it was rich with vine and Hock, 

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.* 



And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the 
land. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword. 
Though Britons arm, and Wellington com- 
mand ! 
No : gi-ini Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ! 
And from its base shall wheel his shattered hand, 
As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious 
course. 

* I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French army 
that sublime passage ia the prophecies of Joel, Chap. ii. 3. •' A lire 
dfvoiireth before them, and behind them a flame biirneth : the 
land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind theina 
desolate wilderness, yea. and uotiiiiig shall escape them." 



428 THE VISION OF DOM KODliRlCK.. 

IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, 
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood ; 
For full in view the promised conquest stood, 
And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might 
sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdupd. 
And hear the distant thunders of the di'um. 
That bids the band of France to storm and havoc 
come. 

V. 

Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd, 

Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey. 
As famish' d wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path, a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle-fray. 

Nor blaze yon tires where meets the manly tight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way, 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite. 
To damn with double shame their ignominious flight ! 

O triimaph for the Fiends of Lust and wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot. 
What wanton horrors mark'd their wiackful path! 

The peasant butcher'd in his niin'd cot, 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot. 

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and tiame, 
Woman to infamy ; no crime forgot. 

By which inventive daemons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to Man, and scorn of God's great 
name ! 

\ll. 

The rudest sentinel, in Britain born. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 

Gavs his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,* 
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun. 

* Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the 
campaign of 1810-11, although they never fought but to conquer, 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



429 



Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son 

Exult the debt of s}Tnpathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, 

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more Avorth- 
less lay. 

VIII. 

But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscall 'd in vain ! 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marceila s pass, nor Gruarda's mountain chain ? 
Vain-glorious Fugitive ? yet tm-n again ! 

Behold, where, named hy some Prophetic Seer, 

Flows Honour's Fountain,* as fore-doom'd the 

stain 

From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear — 

Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her fe,vour 

here !f 

IX. 

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid : 

Those chief that never heard the Lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a trace portray' d, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more ; 

Of Avar s fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour. 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, 
And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his soul. 



O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, 
Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's' plain. 

And front the flying thunders as they roar, 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain ! 

And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain. 
Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given — :J 



ry tnan tneir humanity to the 
famished Spaniards, whom they fed as well as defended, even 
when they were themselves reduced lo short allowance. 

* The Uteral translation of Fuentes d' Hcnoro. 

t Maasena, frequently callei the Spoilt child o'f Victory. 

i The g.ill;«nt Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during 
tjxe aesperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentda 



430 THE VISION OF DON RODEKICli. 

Veugeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein, 
And, at the bloody spear-point hea,diong driven. 
Thy Despot's giant guards tied like tlie rack of 
heaven. 

XI. 

Go, baffled Boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 

To plead at thine imperious master's throne ! 
Say, thou hast left his legions in tlieir blood, 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own; 
Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown 

By British skill and valour were outvied; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington ! 

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abide. 

XII. 

But ye, the heroes of that well- fought day, 

How shall a bard, unlcnowing. and unknown, 
His meed to each victorious leader pay. 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, 

O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ; 
And he, perchance, the minstrel note might own, 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
'Mid yon far western isles, that hear the Atlaaitic 
rave. 

XIIL 

Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 

To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Berksford, 

And red Barossa shouts for dauntless Gr^ME ! 
O for a verse of tumult and of iiame. 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon somid, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame ! 

For never, upon gory battle-ground, 
With conquest's well-bought wreath wero braver 
victors crowned ! 

d'llonoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 71 st 
and 79th, who raised a dreailtiil shriek of grief aii<l ra<fe. They 
Charged, with irrt-sistible furj', the finest bmiy of Kri-urh ffreiia- 
liiers ever seen, being a part of Buonaparte's selecte-l ffiiard, and 
bore them out of the contested ground at the poiut of the bayonet. 



THE VISION OF DON ROPERICK. 431 



O who shall grudge liim Albuera's hays, 

"Who brought a race regenerate to the field, 
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, _ 

Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage 
steel'd,* 
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield. 

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, 
And taught her sous forgotten arms to wield — 

Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord. 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresford ! 



Not on that bloody field of battle won, 

Though Gaul's proud legions roU'd like mist 
away. 
Was half his self-devoted valour sho^^^l, — 
He gaged but life on that illustrious day; 
But when he toil'd those squadrons to array, 

\\Tio fought like Britons in the bloody game. 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, 

He braved the shafts of censure and of sham--. 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldiers 
fame. 



Nor be his praise o'erpass'd who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
"Whose wish. Heaven for his country's weal denied; 

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound, 

Tlie wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still 
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground: 

He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his L}'ndoch's lovely rill. 



* Field-Marshal Beresford, iras conten'cd to undertake all tho 
hazard of oblrxjuv u-|iich might have been founded upon any in:/>. 
cnrriaae in the liii^hly important experiment of training the Pnr- 
tupfuese troops to an improved stale of disripUne. His genenna 
devotedness was amply rewarded by the conduct anr, vrJour of 
the soldiers during the whole course of the war. 



432 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

XVU. 
O hero of a race renown'd of old, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-sweil,* 
Since first distinguisli'd in the onset bold, 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell ! 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber own'd its fame, 
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, 

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name. 
Than when wild Ronda learn'd the coucjuering 

shout of GRiEME ! 

XVIII. 

But all too long, through seas unkno\\'n and dark, 

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale) 
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous hark ; 

And land-ward now I drive before the gale, 
And now the blue and distant shore I. hail. 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail, 

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to land. 



» This stanza aUudes to the various achievements of the vrarlilre 
family of Grasme, or Grahame. They are said, to have desteuded 
from the Scottish chief, under whose commacd his CMUiitrvmen 
stormed the ■trail built by the Emperor Sev-srus. Sir John the 
Grahame, "the hardy wight and wise," is well kno\m as tl>e friend 
of Sir William WcOlace. Alderne, Kilsyth, and Tibbermujr, w« iv 
scenes of the victories of the heroic Marquis of Montros<> T!:e 
pass of Killy-crankie is famous for the action between King VVil- 
Usui's forces and the Highlanders in 1689. 

"Where glad Dundee in faint htizaae expired-" 



R O K E B r ; 

^ 33oein, 

IN SIX CANTOS. 



TO 

JOHN R. S. MORRITT, Esq. 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUt 
DEMESNE OF ROKEBV, 

IS INSCRIBED, 

IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, 

BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 
Bee. 31, 1812. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The scene of this poem is laid at Rokeby, near 
Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and sliifts to the adjacent 
fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in tliat 
vicinity. 

The time occupied by the action is a space of five 
days, three of which are supposed to elapse between 
the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto. 

The date of the supposed events is immediately 
subsequent to the great battle of Marston Moor, 3d 
July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been 
chosen, without any puipose of combining the Fable 
with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, 
but only as affording a degree of probability to the 
fictitious narrative now presented to the Public. 



EOKEBY, 



CANTO FIRST. 



The Moon is in her summer glow. 
But hoarse and high the breezes hlow, 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream. 
She changes as a guilty dream, 
When Conscience, "svith remorse and fear, 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame. 
Seems now fierce anger's darker Uame, 
Shifting that shade, to come and go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air. 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old BalioFs tower looks forth. 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north. 
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
By tits the plashing rain-drop fall, 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round, 

« The once magnificent fortress of Barnard Castle derives its 
name from its founder. Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short 
and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the 
Scottish throne under the patronage of Kdwafd I. and Edward 
III. Bahors Tower, afterwards mentioned in the poem, is a roimd 
tower of great size, situated at the western extremity of the build- 
ing. The prosjHN^t from the top of the Tower coiAmands a rioh and 
ooagaificent new of the wooded valley of the Tees. 



V,' 



436 



[CANTO 1. 



ir. 

Those towers, -which in the changeful gloam 
Throw murky shadows on the stream, 
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
The emotion" of whose troubl'd breast, 
In wihl and strange confusion driven, 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern OSWALDS senses tied, 
Oft had he chang'd his weary side, 
ComposM his limbs and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time. 
Already rues the enacted crime, 
And calls her furies forth, to shaico 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake; 
While her poor victim's outward throea 
Bear witness to his mental woes. 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

III. 
Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face. 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees, 
There might be seen of shame the blush, 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush. 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 
Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh. 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The pallid cheek and brow confess'd 
That grief was busy in his breast ; 
Nor paus'd that mood — a sudden start 
Impell'd the life-blood from the heart : 
Features convuls'd, and mutterings dread, 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painful slumber broke. 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 



CANTO I.] UOKEBY 437 

IV. 
He woke, and fear'd again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
He woke,— to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-belL 
Or listen to the owlet's cry, 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by, 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time. 
And enNying think, how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 

V. 

Far town- ward sounds a distant tread, 
And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear. 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
Until it reach'd the castle bank. 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears. 
The warder's challenge now he hears. 
Then clanking chains and levers tell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 
And, in the castle court below. 
Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
As marshalling the stranger's way. 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay 
The crj' was, — " Tidings from the host. 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tumult of his breast, 
His answer Oswald thus express'd — 
" Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." 

VI. 

The stranger came with heavy stride, 
Ihe morion's plumes his visage hide. 
And the bufi'-coat, an ample told, 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.* 

* The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into disuse 
during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders of 
rank and importance- Buff-coats continued to be worn by the 
city trained-bands till nejir the middle of the last century. 



438 EOKEBY. [CAKTOX 

Full slender answer deigned he 

To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 

But mark'd, by a disdainful smile, 

He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 

When Oswald chang'd the torch's place, 

Anxious that on the soldier s face 

Its partial lustre might be thrown, 

To show his looks, yet hide his own. 

His guest, the while, laid low aside 

The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 

And to the torch glanc'd broad and clear 

The corslet of a cuirassier ; 

Then from his brows the casque he drew, 

And from the dank plume dash'd the dew, 

From gloves of mail reliev'd his hands, 

And spread them to the kindling brands, 

And, turning to the genial board. 

Without a health, or pledge, or word 

Of meet and social reverence said. 

Deeply he drank, and fiercely ted ; 

As free from ceremony's sway. 

As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 

VII. 

With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside. 
Now pac'd the room with hasty stride-. 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his rufhan feast. 
Yet viewing with alarm, at last, 
The end of that uncouth repast, 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue. 
As, at his sign, his train withdrew, 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 



CiVNTO 10 ROKEBV. 439 

VIII. 

Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On liis dark face a scorching clime, 
And toil, had done the work of time, 
Roughen'd the brow, the temples har'd, 
And sable hairs with silver shar'd. 
Yet left — what age alone could tame — • 
The lip of pride, the eye of tiame ; 
Tlie full-drawn iip that upward curl'd. 
The eve, that seemM to scorn the world. 
That lip had terror never blench'd ; 
Ne'er in that eye hath tear-drop quench'd 
The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
That mock'd at pain, and knew not woo. 
Inur'd to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm. 
Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,* 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
Knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all. 
IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look 
Unmov'd could blood and danger brook, 
Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous face ; 
For evil passions, cherish'd long. 
Had plough'd them with impression strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, past with youth away. 
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew. 
Had it been tam'd when life was new, 
Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
The hardier fruits of %-irtuous worth. 

* The successes of the English in the predatory mcui-simis upon 
Spanish- America, during the reieu nt" Elizabeth, had never been 
forgotten ; and, from that period cfr>\ruwarii, the exploits of Drake 
and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with 
equally desperate valour, by small bands of pirates gathered from 
all nations, but chiefly French and English. The character of 
Bertram is copied from those qualities by which the bucauiers 
ivere generally distinguished. 



440 ROKEBT. CCANTO I 

Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindiy tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refiu'd 
To bounty in his chasten'd mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain' d, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train, 
To lure his sullen guest to show, 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know, 
While on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falter'd from his tongue. 
Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain. 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
Return'd him answer dark and short, 
Or started from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange. 
And forc'd the embarrass'd host to buy, 
By query close, direct reply. 

XI. 

A while he gloz'd upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church Reform 'd — but felt rebu 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look, 
Then stammer'd — " Has a field been fought ? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war. 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
Until the field were won and lost.'* 



CANTO I] ROEEBT. 441 

*' Here, iii your towers by circling Teea, 

You, Oswald Wycliffc, rest at ease ; 

Wh}' deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home, 

Prom fields where danger, death and toil, 

Are the reward of civil broil?" — 

" Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we know 

Ihe near advances of the foe, 

To mar our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay, 

And must have fought — how went the day ?"— 



*' "Wouldst hear the tale ? — On Marston heath 
Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now 
FirM was each eye, and fiush'd each brow ; 
On either side loud clamours ring, 
' God and the Cause P — ' God and the King !' 
Right English all, they i-ush'd to blows, 
With nought to win, and all to lose. 
I could have laugh'd — but lack'd the time — 
To see, in phreuesy sublime. 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
For king or state, as humour led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for church-tippet, gown and hood, 
Draining their veins, in death to claim 
A patriot's or a martyrs name — 
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts. 
That counter'd there on adverse parts. 
No superstitious fool liad I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her states, 
And Lima op'd her silver gates. 
Rich Mexico I had march'd through, 
And sack'd the splendours of Peru, 
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name. 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." — 
" Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the day ?" 
t2 



442 



[CANTO L 



XIII. 

" Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound, 

And good where goblets dance the round, 

Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now. 

With rugged Bertram's breast and brow.— 

But I resume. The battle's rage 

Was like the strife which currents wage 

Where Orinoco, in his pride, 

Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 

A rival sea of roaring war ; 

While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 

The billows fling their foam to heaven. 

And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 

Where rolls the river, where the main. 

Even thus upon the bloody field, 

The eddying tides of conflict wheel'd 

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 

Hurling against our spears a line 

Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 

In zeal's despite began to reel. 

What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost, 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

A thousand men, who drew the sword 

For both the Houses and the Word, 

Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and do"wn, 

To curb the crosier and the crown. 

Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch 'd in gore. 

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 

Thus far'd it, when I left the fight. 

With the good Cause and Commons' right." — • 



" Disastrous news !" dark Wycliffe said ; 
Assum'd despondence bent his head, 
While troubl d joy was in his eye. 
The well-feign'd sorrow to belie. — 
" Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? 



CANTO I] 



ROKEBY. '143 



Complete the woful tale, and say. 

Who fell upon that fatal day ; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame. 

If such my direst foeman's doom. 

My tears shall dew his honour'd tomb. — 

No answer? — Friend, of all our host. 

Thou know'st whom I should hate the most, 

Whom thou too, once, were wont to hate, 

Yet leav'st me doubtful of his fate." — 

With look unmov'd, — " Of friend or foe. 

Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know. 

Demand in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 

For question dark, or riddle high, 

I have nor judgment nor reply." 



The WTath his art and fear suppressed. 
Now blaz'd at once in Wycliffe's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly bom, 
Rous'd his hereditary scorn. 
" Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 
Philip of Mortham, lives he yet ? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjur'd, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight ?"' 
Then from his seat the soldier sprang. 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
ForcM the red blood-drop from the nail — 
" A health !" he cried ; and, ere he quaft'd. 
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laugh'd : 
• — " Now, Oswald "Wycliffe, speaks thy heart ! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part I 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a bucanier. 
What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine? 
What car'st thou for beleaguer'd York, 
If this good hand have done its woric ? 



444 ROKEBY. [CiOrro t. 

Or what though Fairfax and his best 
Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 
If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free 
Carousing after victory, 
"When tales are told of blood and fear, 
That boys and women shrink to hear. 
From point to point I frankly tell 
The deed of death as it befell. 

XVI. 
*' When purpos'd vengeance I forego, 
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
And when an insult I forgive. 
Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 
Philip of Mortham is with those 
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 
Or whom more sure revenge attends, 
If number'd with ungi-ateful friends. 
As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 
Along the marshall'd ranks he rode. 
And wore his visor up the while. 
I saw his melancholy smile, 
When, full oppos'd in front, he knew 
AVhere Rokeby's kindred banner flew, 
' And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide V — 
I heard, and thought how, side by side. 
We two had turned the battle's tide, 
In many a well-debated field, 
"Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield, 
I thought on Darien's deserts pale, 
Where death bestrides the evening gale. 
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
And fenceless fac'd the deadly dew ; 
I thought on Quariana's cliff, 
Where, rescu'd from our foundering skiff, 
Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 
Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
And when his side an arrow found, 
I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 
These thoughts like torrents rush'd along. 
To sweep away my purpose strong. 



CANTO 1.3 



EOKEBY. 445 



XVII. 
" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 
When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 
Be near him in the battle's roar, 
I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 
Lost was the war in inward strife, 
Debating Mortham's death or life. 
'Twas then, I thought, how, lur'd to come, 
As partner of his wealth and home, 
Years of piratic wand' ring o'er, 
"With him I sought our native shore. 
But Mortham's lord grew far estrang'd 
From the bold heart with whom he nuig'd ; 
Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 
Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 
The wily priests their victim sought. 
And damn'd each free-born deed and thought. 
Then must I seek another home. 
My license shook his sober dome ; 
If gold he gave, in one wild day 
I revell'd thrice the sum away. 
An idle outcast then I stray'd. 
Unfit for tillage or for trade, 
Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance, 
Useless and dangerous at once. 
The women fear'd my hardy look. 
At my approach the peaceful shook ; 
The merchant saw my glance of flame. 
And lockM his hoards when Bertram came : 
Each child of coward peace kept far 
From the neglected son of war. 

XVIII. 
" But civil discord gave the call. 
And made my trade the trade of alL 
By Mortham urg'd, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train, 
"What guerdon waited on my care r 
I could not cant of creed or prayer; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtain 'd, 
And I, dishononr'd and disdain' d. 



446 ROKEBY. [CANTO I. 

Gain'd "but the high and happy lot, 
In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st, th}- gestures tell ; 
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
'Tis honour bids me nov/ relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 

XIX, 
" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
As my spur pressM my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried. 
And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd. 
His plea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 
I watch'd him through the doubtful fray, 
That changed as March's moody day. 
Till, like a stream that hursts its bank. 
Fierce Rupert thunder'd on our flank. 
'Tw^as then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife. 
Where each man fought for death or life, 
'Twas then I fir'd my petrouel. 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast. 
Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 

Think not that there I stopp'd to view 

What of the battle should ensue ; 

But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 

Our northern horse ran masterlcss ; 

Monckton and Mitton told the news,* 

How troops of roundheads chok'd the Ouse, 

And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 

Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 

Cursing the day when zeal or meed 

First lur'd their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 

Yet when I reach'd the banks of Swale, 

Had rumour learn'd another tale ; 

With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say. 

Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day ;"f 

But whether false the news, or true, 

Oswald, I reck as light as yoii," 

* Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, arid 
not very distant from the field of battle 

t Crotn-n-ell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a priiK'lpui 
share in turning the fate of the day at Marston Moor. 



CANTO L] 



EOKEBY. 44^ 



XX. 



Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In -which his complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he wovei, 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love; 
Promised and vow'd in courteous sort. 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warn'd by the legends of my youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Train'd forward to his bloody fall, 
By Girsonfield, that treach'rous Hall?* 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side, 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name. 
The moated mound of Risingham,i' 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Svreet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone ; 
Unmatch'd in strength, a giant he, 
With quiver'd back, and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
The tameless monarch of the wold. 



* According to the border legend, Percival Beed, Esquire, a 
keeper of Keedsdale, was betrayed by the Halls (hence denomi- 
nated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band of moss-troopers of the 
name of Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, near the source of 
the Reed. The ghost of the murdered borderer was supposed to 
haunt the banks of a brook called the Pringle. 

t Hisingham, upon the river Keed, near the beautiful hamlet of 
Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called Habitan- 
oum. About half a mile distant from Risingham, upon an emi- 
nence covered with scattered birch-trees and fraigments of rock, 
there is cut upon a large rock, in alto relievo, a remarkable figure, 
called Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Reedsdale. The popular 
tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at 
Woodburn, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sub- 
sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game become 
too flcarce to support them, poisoned his companion, to whose mem- 
ory the monument was engraved. 



448 ROKEBT. [CANTO I 

And age and infancy can tell, 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warn'd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's tnith. 

XXI. 

" When last we reason'd of this deed. 
Nought, I bethink me, was agreed. 
Or by what rule, or when, or where, 
The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list, while 1 the portion name. 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's tlu:one. 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir. 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 
And these- 1 yield : — do thou re\ere 
The statutes of the Bucanier.* 
Fiiend to the sea, and foeman Bwom 
To all that on her waves are borne, 
\\'hen falls a mate in battle broil, 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil; 
When dies in tight a daring foe. 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
Hoarded in Moitham's caverns dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark. 
Chalice and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar. 
And all the Avealth of western war. 
I go to search, where, dark and deep. 
Those Trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 



* TTie "statutes of the Bucaniers" were, in reality, mnre equl 
table than could have betn expected. When the expeilition was 
ciimv>leleil, the fviiid 'if prize-money aoqiiiied was thiumi tofrether, 
and tlie owners of the vessel liad then tlieir share assigTied for the 
expenses of the outfit. The surgeon's and carpenter's salaries, 
with the price of provisions and aininuniiion, weie al<o defrayed. 
Then followed thecouipensation due to thom.iimed and wo'uided, 
rated according to the damage they had sustained. After this act 
of justice and humanity, the remainder of the booty was divided 
iuto a3 many shares as there were Bucaiiiers. 



CANTO L] ROKEBV. 

Thou must along — for, lacking thee, 
The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
When cloy'd each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 

XXIL 
An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his ovra troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear: — 
Joy'd at the soul that Bertram flies, 
He grudg'd the murderer's mighty prize-, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 
And fear'd to wend with him alone. 
At length, that middle course to steer. 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now ; 
Wilfrid on Bertram should attend. 
His son should journey with his friend." 



Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 

And wreath'd to savage smile his frown. 

" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me. 

Whichever bears the golden key. 

Yet think not but I mark, and smile 

To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 

If injury from me you fear, 

"NVTiat, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here? 

I've sprung from walls more high than these, 

I've swam through deeper streams than Tees. 

Might I not stab thee ere one yell 

Could rouse the distant sentinel? 

Start not — it is not my design, 

But, if it were, weak fence were thine : 

And, trust me, that, in time of need. 

This hand hath done more desp'rate deed. 

Go, haste and rouse thy slumb'ring son; 

Time calls, and I must needs be gone.'' 



449 



450 ROKEBY. C CANTO V 



Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
A heart too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, Avhile yet a hardier race 
Of num'rous sons were Wycliffe's grace. 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous hrand, 
For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
AVere centred in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic rnood 
Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 
Hour after hour he lov'd to pore 
On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore. 
But turn'd from martial scenes and light. 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight, 
To ponder Jacques' moral strain. 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain; 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 



In youth he sought not pleasures found 

By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 

But loved the quiet joys that wake j 

By lonely stream and silent lake ; 

In Deepdale's solitude to lie, 

"Where all is cliff and copse and sky; 

To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 

Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 

Such was he wont : and there his dream 

Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme. 

Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring. 

Till Contemplation's wearied wing 

The enthusiast could no more sustain. 

And sad he sunk to earth again. 

XXVI. 

He lov'd — as many a lay can tell,. 
Preserv'd in Stanmore's lonely dell. 
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
The art unteachable, unt.i»ughi; 



CANTO 10 ROKEBY. 

He lovM — ^liis soul did nature frame 
For love, and fancy nurs'd the flame ; 
Vainly he lov'd — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is lov'd again; 
Silent he lov'd — in even^ gaze 
Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
So mus'd his life away — till died 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 
And destin'd, darkling, to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 



Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy best, 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her w as a harder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave ; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approv'd, 
And sung the lays he fram'd or lov'd; 
Yet, loath to nurse the fatal Hame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The fav'ring glance to friendship due, 
Then griev''d to see her victim's pain. 
And gave the dang'rous smiles again. 

XXVIII. 

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 

When war's loud summons wak'd the land. 

Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 

The wo-forehoding peasant sees ; 

In concert oft they brav'd of old 

The bordering Scot's incursion bold: 

FrowTiing deiiance in their pride. 

Their vassals now and lords divide. 



4^1 



452 ROKEBY. 

From his fair hall on Greta banks, 
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 
To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Rokeby's bride. 
Though long before the civil fray. 
In peaceful grave the lady lay. — 
Philip of Mortham rais'd his band, 
And march'd at Fairfax's command ; 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody field, 
?*Iade Barnard's battlements his shield, 
Secm-'d them with the Lunedale powers, 
And for the Commons held the towers. 



The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight 
Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
For England's war rever'd the claim 
Of every unprotected name, 
And spar'd, amid its fiercest rage. 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego, 
By Greta's side, in evening grey. 
To steal upon Matilda's way, 
Striving, with fond hypocrisy. 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance. 
Or framing as a fair excuse. 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the long'd-for minutes lastj — 
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past ! — 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy, 
blach friendly look, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 



LC:VNT0 1. 



CANTO 1.] XIOKEBY. 

All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
"Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
"While springs his heart at every sound. 
She conies ! — 'tis but a passing sight, 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She conies not — He will wait the hour, 
When her lamp lightens in the tow'r ; 
'Tis something yet, if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my life, my hope?" he said; 
" Alas ! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come, 
While still he turn'd impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indiff'rent, and subdued, 
In all but this, unmov'd he view'd 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
AVas Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child; 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat. 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bath'd in her dews his languid head, 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread, 
For him her opiates gave to How, 
Which he who tastes, can ne'er forego. 
And plac'd him in her circle, free 
From ever}' stern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 

XXXI. 

Woe to the j-outh, whom Fancy gains, 
Winning from Reason's hand the reins. 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft contemplative, and kind ; 



453 



454 ROKEBY, [CANTO L 

And woe to those who train such youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth, 
The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
While on the stitliy glows the steel ! 
O teach liim, while your lessons last 
To judge the present by the past ; 
Remind him of each wish pursued, 
How rich it glow'd with promised good t 
Remind him of each wish enjoy'd. 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd ! 
Tell him, we play unequal game. 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ! 
And, ere he strip him for her race. 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set. 
Cold Disappointment and Regret j 
One disenchants the winner's eyes. 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 
While one augments its gaudy show 
More to enhance the loser's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold, 
Transform'd, when won, to drossy mould, 
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 



More wouldst thou know — yon tower survey, 
Yon couch unpress'd since parting day. 
Yon untrimm'd lamp, whose yellow gleam, 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam. 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
The head reclin'd, the loosen'd hair. 
The limbs relax'd, the mournful air.— 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while, — 
'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought, 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes. 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain^ 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 



CANTO I.] TvOKEBY. 

Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast , 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another hour must wear away, 
Ere the East kindle into day ; 
And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 



SONG. 
To The Moon. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam. 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below. 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and wo ! 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once l)y Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide. 

Still are the thoughts to mem'ry dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen. 

Reflected from the crystal well, 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 

XXXIV. 

He starts— a step at this lone hour ! 
A voiae I — ^his father seeks the tov.'i. 



4SS 



456 ROKEBY. [ 

With haggard look and troubled sense, 

Fresh from his dreadful conference. 

" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address 'd? 

Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 

]\lortham has faU'n on Marston-moor ; 

Bertram brings warrant to secure 

His treasures, bought by spoil and blood. 

For the state's use and public good. 

The menials will thy voice obey; 

Let his commission have its way, 

In every point, in every word.' — 

Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword ! 

Bertram is — what I must not tell. 

I hear his hasty step — farewell !" 



CANTO SECOND. 



Far in the chambers of the west. 
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin grey clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
Waited the wakening touch of day, 
To give its woods and cultur'd plain, 
And tow'rs and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilraanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls, 
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walla 
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale, 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 



What prospects, from his watch-tower high. 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eve ! 



CANTO no ROICEBY, 457 

Far s-u-eeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees, 
And tracks his wand'rings by the steam 
Of summer vapours from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destin'd hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 
These silver mists shall melt away. 
And dew the woods with glitt'ring spray- 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone. 
And each huge trank that, from the side, 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 
Wears with his rage no common foe ; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce careex. 
Condemned to mine a channell'd "way. 
O'er solid sheets of marble grey. 



Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright. 
Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight ; 
But many a tributary stream 
Each from its own dark dell shall gleam ; 
Staindrop, who, from her silvan bowers 
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 
The rural brook of Egliston, 
And Balder, nam d from Odin's son ; 
And Greta, to whose banks ere long 
We lead the lovers of the song ; 
And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild. 
And fairy Thorsgill's murm'ring child. 
And last and least, but loveliest still, 
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
Who in that dim- wood glen hath stray 'd. 
Yet long'd for Roslin's magic glade ? 
Who wand' ring there, hath sought to change, 
Ev'n for that vale so stern and strange, 
Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, 
Through her green copse like spires are sentP 
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 
Thy scenes and stoiy to combine ! 
u 



458 



[CANTO IL 



Thou bidd'st him, who by RosUn strays. 

List to the deeds of other days ; 

'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave, 

The refuge of thy champion brave ;* 

Giving each rock its storied tale, 

Pouring a lay for every dale. 

Knitting, as with a moral band. 

Thy native legends with thy land. 

To lend each scene the int'rest high 

Which genius beams from Beauty's eye. 



Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height. 

But from the tow'rs, preventing day. 

With Wilfrid took his early way. 

While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale. 

Still mingled in the silent dale. 

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone. 

The southern bank of Tees they won ; 

Their winding path then eastward cast, 

And Egliston's grey ruins pass'd ; 

Each on his own deep visions bent, 

Silent and sad they onward went. 

Well may you think that Bertram's mood. 

To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 

Well may you think bold Risingham 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 

And small the intercourse, I ween. 

Such uncongenial souls between. 



Stern Bertram shunn'd the nearer way, 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay. 
And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 
They cross "d by Greta's ancient bridge. 
Descending where her waters wind 
Free for a space and unconfin'd. 
As, 'scap'd from Brignall's dark-wood glen, 
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 

* Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the faf"our. 
Ite retreats of Sir WiUiain WaUace. 



CANTO 11.2 ROKJiBY. 459 

There, as his eye giauc'd o'er the mound, 
Rais'd by that Legion long renown' d, 
"Whose votive shrine asserts their c laim , 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
" Stern sons of war !" sad ^^ ilfrid sigh'd, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known ? 
A grassy trench, a broken stone !" — 
This to himself ; for moral strain 
To Bertram were address 'd in vain. 

VI. 

Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high* 
Were northvcard in the da^\Tiing seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, though Spenser's self had strayed 
Beside him through the lovely glade, 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of Fancy, all its charms to show 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty, 
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad. 
And clam'ring joyful on her road ; 
Pointing where, up the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scatter"d ranks. 
Save where, advanc'd before the rest, 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions, when their band is broke. 
Stand forth to guard the rearward post. 
The bulwark of the scatter" d host — 
All this, and more, might Spenser say^ 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay. 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
AVhose lattice lights Matilda's bower. 

VII. 

The open vale is soon pass'd o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 

» This ancient manor long gave name to a famUy by whom it ia 
said to have been possessed from the Contjuest downward, and who 
are at Hitfereut tLiies distinguished in history. It was the Baron 
of Kokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of the Earl of 
Northumberland during the reigfii of Heury IV. 



4G0 ROlCEBr. [CANTO II 

Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 

A wild and darker course they keep, 

A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode ! 

Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 

Deejjer and narrower grew the dell ; 

It seem'd some mountain rent and riven. 

A channel for the stream had given. 

So high the cliii's of limestone grey 

Hung heetling o'er the torrent's way, 

Yielding, along their rugged base. 

A flinty footpath's niggard space, 

Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 

May hear the headlong torrent rave. 

And like a steed in frantic fit, 

That liings the froth from curb and hit, 

May view her chafe her waves to spray, 

O'er every rock that bars her way, 

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 

Thick as the schemes of human pride 

That down life's current drive amain, 

As frail, as frothy, and as vain I 

VIII. 

The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed, 
'Were now all naked, wild, and grey 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to ev'ry crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And there, all splinter'd and imeven, 
The shiver 'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 
Oft, too, the ivy swath'd their breast. 
And wreath'd its garland round their crest. 
Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of Baron bold. 
When revell'd loud the feudal rout. 
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout; 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
And such the echoes from her shore. 



CANTO IL] ROKEBY. 461 

And so the ivied banners' gleam 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream, 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede, 

But leave between no sunny mead, 

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 

Oft found by such a mountain strand; 

Forming such warm and dry retreat, 

As fancy deems the lonely seat, 

"Where hermit, wand'ring from his cell. 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew, 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast 

The earth that nourished them to blast; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love ; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower. 

Arose within its baleful bower ; 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves, 

That from the v^dth'ring branches cast, 

Bestrewed the ground with ever}- blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still. 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewood glide ' 

And wild and savage contrast made 

That dingle's deep and fun'ral shade. 

With the bright tints of early day, ^<0 

Which, glimm'ring through the ivy spray, ' ' 

On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasant shuim'd the dell ; 

For Superstition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight, 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide, 

Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 



462 R0KKT1T. [CANTO IL 

While Curiosity and Fear, 

Pleasure aud Pain, sit crouching near. 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The tln-illing int'rest rises higher. 

The circle closes nigh and nigher, 

And shudd'ring glance is cast behind, 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

Believe, that fitting scene was laid 

For such wild tales in Mortham glade ; 

For who had seen, on Greta's side, 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touch'd by Superstition's power, 

Might well have deem'd that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven. 

While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 
Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confin'd 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr'd, 
Have quak'd, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 

Bei-ti'am had listed many a tale 

Of won .ler in his native dale. 

That in his secret soul retain'd 

The credence they in childhood gain'd : 

Ncr less his wild advent' rous youth 

Believ'd in every legend's truth ; 

Learn'd when, beneath the tropic gale. 

Full sweird the vessel's steady sail, 

And the broad Indian moon her light 

Pour d on the watch of middle night. 

When seamen love to hear and tell 

Of portent, prodigy, and t^pell : 

What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,* 

How whistle rash bids tempests roar, 

» The Lapland witches were famous for the Bale of proeiierons 
winds which they disposed of to credulous mariuera 



CANTO II.] RCKEBY. 463 

Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 

Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ;* 
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard. 
And lower'd is every top-sail yard, 
And can \ ass wove in earthly looms, 
No more to brave the storm presumes I 
Then, "mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 
Full spread and crowded eveiy sail, 
The Demon Frigatef braves the gale ; 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and woe. 

XII. 

Then, too, were told, in stilled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key,:J: 
^^'^lere Spaniards ^vrought their cruelty, 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall'd the list'ning Bucanier, 
W hose light-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane ; 



* That these are general superstitions, is well known to all who 
have been on ship-board, or who liave conversed with seamen. 
They farther assert, that Ericiis, King of Sweden, was so familiar 
with the evU spirits, that which way soever he turned his cap, the 
wind would presently blow that way. 

+ This is an allusion to a wpll-known nautical superstition con- 
cerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying Dutchman, 
and supposed to be seen about the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. 
Site is disliiiffuished from earthly vessels by bearingapress of sail 
when all others are luiable, from stress of weather, to show an 
inch of canvass. The apparition of the ship is considered by the 
mariners as the worst of all possible oraens. 

J These keys are small sandy patches, appearing just above the 
surface of ihe ocean. As many of the atrocities which the bucan- 
iers practised on their prisoners were committed in such spots, 
there are some of these keys which even now have an indifferent 
reputation among seamen, and where they are ^vith difficulty pre- 
vailed on to remain ashore at niglit on accoiuit of the visionary 
terrors incident to placea which have been thus contaminated. 



4G4 ROKEBV. CCANTO 11. 

The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies mem'ry for a prayer, 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail, 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey 
A legend for another bay. 

XIII. 
Thus, as a man, a youth, a child 
Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 
With this (m Bertram's soul at times 
Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their form, 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm, 
And such their omen dim and dread, 
As shrieks and voiees of the dead, — 
That pang, whose transitory force 
Hover'd twixt horror and remorse ; 
That pang, perchance, his bosom press'd, 
As Wilfrid sudden he address'd : — 
" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
Until the sun rides high abroad ; 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A Form, that seem'd to dog our way ; 
Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee 
And shroud itself by clitf or tree. 
How think'st thou? — Is our path way-Jaid? 
Or hath thy sire my trust betray 'd ? 

If so" Ere, starting from his dream, 

That turn'd upon a gentler theme, 

Wilfrid had rous'd him to reply, 

Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 

" Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand l"— 

And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIV. 
As bursts the levin in its wrath. 
He shot him down the sounding path ; 
Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out. 
To his loud step and savage shout. 
Seems that the object of his race 
Hath scal'd the cliffs ; his frantic chase 
Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis benfc 
Right up the rock's tall battlement :; 



CANTO 11.] B.OKEBY. 

Straining each sinew to ascend, 

Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend. 

"Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. 

Views, from heneath, his dreadful way : 

Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings, 

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 

Now, like the wild goat, must he dare 

An unsupported leap iu air ; 

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 

You mark him by the crashing bough, 

And by his corslet's suUeu clank. 

And by the stones spuru'd from the bank. 

And by the hawk scar'd from her nest, 

And ravens' croaking o'er their guest, 

Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 

XV. 

See, he emerges ! — desp'rate now 

All farther course — Yon beetling brow. 

In craggy nakedness sublime, 

What heart or foot shall dare to climh ? 

It bears no tendril for his clasp, 

Presents no angle to his grasp : 

Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 

Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 

Balanc'd on such precarious prop, 

He straius his grasp to reach the top. 

Just as the dang'rous stretch he makes, 

By heav'n, his faithless footstool shakes ! 

Beneath his tott'ring bulk it bends. 

It sways, — it loosens, — it descends ! 

And do^^•nward holds its headlong way. 

Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 

Loud thunders shake the echoing deU ! — 

Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 

Just on the very verge of fate. 

The hardy Bertram's falling weight 

He trusted to his sinewj' hands. 

And on the top unharm'd he stands ! 

XVI. 
Vv'ilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
At intervals where, rougblv hew'd, 
'u2 



465 



46t> K0KK3Y. tCANTO U. 

Rude steps asceuding from the deli 
Render'd the cliffs accessible. 
By circuit slow he thus attain'd 
The height that Risingham had gain'd, 
And ^Yhen he issued from the wood, 
Before the gate of Mortham stood.* 
'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tow'r and portal grey : 
And from the grassy sloj^e he sees 
The Greta How to meet the Tees ; 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red, 
And through the soft'ning vale below 
Roli'd her bright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing, to her bridal bed, 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
j "V Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII. 

'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam, and wild-bird's call, 
Awak'd not Mortham's silent hall. 
No porter, by the low-brow'd gate, 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the pav'd court no peasant drew; 
Wak'd to their toil no menial crew ; 
The maiden's carol was not heard, 
As to her morning task she far'd : 
In the void offices around, 
Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound ; 
Nor eager steed, with slirilling neigh, 
Accus'd the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimm'd, undress'd, neglected now, 
Yv'as alley'd walk and orchard bough ; 
All spoke the master's absent care, 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 

* The situation of Mortham is eminently >>M.DtifiU, ocoupyirp a 
hiy^h 1 auk, at the bottom of which the Greta mnds out of the 
dark, narrow, and romantic dell, which the text has atteDipted 
to describe, and flows onward through a more open valley to meet 
the Tees about a quarter of a mile from the castle. 



CANTO a] ROKETiY. 467 

South of the gate, an arrow flight, 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite, 
As if a canopy, to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
For their huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carv'd o'er in ancient Gothic wise, 
With many a scutcheon and device: 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pond' ring by the tomb. 

XVIII. 

" It vanish'd like a flitting ghost ! 
Behind this tomb," he said, "• 'twas lost — 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lies stor'd 
Of ilortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'Tis tme, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
But weightier reasons may be guess'd 
For their lord's strict and stern behest, 
That none should on his steps intrude, 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew. 
What time I sail'd with Morgan s crew, 
Who o!t, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
Advent' rous hearts ! who baiter'd, bold. 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say. 
Captain or comrade Avith your prey ; 
But seek some chamel, when, at full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull ; 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap. 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ;* 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel, 
liacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave, 
Or pris'ner, on the treasure grave; 

* If time did not permit the Bucaniers to lavish away their plun- 
der iu tlieir usual debaucheries, tht-y were wout to hide it, inihe 
desert islands and keys which ihey frequented. They are said to 
have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in order to secure an un- 
earthly gu.irdian to their treasures. They killed a Negro or 
i>l aniard, and buried him with the treasure, believing that his 
8i iiit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all intruders 



468 ROKEBY. 

And bid his discontented ghost 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween 
Is in my morning vision seen." — 



Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild, 

In mingled mirth and pity smil'd, 

Much marv'lling that a breast so bold* 

In such fond tale belief should hold ; 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and show. — 

The pow'r within the guilty breast, 

Oft vanquish'd, never quite suppressed. 

That unsubdued and lurking lies 

To take the felon by surprise, 

And force him, as by magic spell, 

In his despite his guilt to tell, — 

That pow'r in Bertram's breast awoke ; 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 

" 'TAvas Mortham's form, from foot to head ! 

His morion, with the plume of red, 

His shape, his mien — 'twas Mortham, right 

As when I slew him in the fight." — 

"Thou slay him.^ — thou .5^" — With conscious start 

He heard, then mann'd his haughty heart — 

" I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 

Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 

But it is spoken — nor will I 

Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 

I slew him ; I ! for thankless pride ; — 

'Twas by this hand that Mortham died." 



Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 

Averse to every active part, 

But most averse to martial broil. 

From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil ; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nurs'd one brave spark of noble fire ; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong. 

His blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong. 



CANTO no ROKEBT. 469 

Not his the nerves that could sustain 
Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain: 
But, when that spark hlaz'd forth to flame 
He rose superior to his frame. 
And now it came, that gen'rous mood ; 
And, in full current of his hlood, 
On Bertram he laid desp'rate hand, 
Plac'd hi-m his foot, and drew his brand, 
" Should everj- fiend, to whom thou'rt sold 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 
Attack the murd'rer of your Lord !" 

XXI. 
A moment, fix'd as by a spell. 
Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle, 
That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 
Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 
But when he felt a feeble stroke. 
The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand. 
To dash him headlong on the sand. 
Was but one moment's work, — one more 
.Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore; 
But, in the instant it arose. 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 
A warlike form, that mark'd the scene. 
Presents bis rapier sheath'd between, 
Pai-ries the fast-descending blow, 
And steps 'twixt \Vilfrid and his foe ; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand. 
But, sternly pointing with his hand. 
With monarcli's voice forbade the fight, 
And rnotion'd Bertram from his sight. 
" Go, and repent," lie said, " while time 
Is giv'n thee ; add not crime to crime." 

XXII. 

Mute, and uncertain, and amaz'd 
As on a vision, Bertram gaz'd 1 
'Twas Moi-tham's bearing, bold and high, 
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 
His look and accent of command. 
The martial gesture of his hand. 



470 ROKEBV. fCANTO II, 

His stately form, spare-built and tall, 

His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Moilham all. 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 

His wav'ring faith receiv'd not quite 

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 

But more be fear'd it, if it stood 

His lord, in living flesh and blood, — 

What spectre can the charnel send, 

So dreadful as an injur'd friend? 

Then, too, the habit of command, 

Us'd by the leader of the band. 

When Risingham, for many a day. 

Had march'd and fought beneath his sway. 

Tam'd him — and, with reverted face, 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace ; 

Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham star'd, 

And dark as rated mastiff glar'd ; 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 

Plung'd in the glen, and disappear'd. 

Nor longer there the Warrior stood. 

Retiring eastward through the wood ; 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." 

XXIII. 

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear. 

Hinting he knew not what of fear ; 

Wlien nearer came the coursers' tread, 

And, with his father at their head. 

Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 

■Rein'd up their steeds before the tower. 

" Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said 

" Where's Bertram?— Why that naked bladeP"— 

Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 

" Bertram is gone — the villain's word 

Avouch'd him murd'rer of his lord ! 

Even now we fought — but, when your tread 

Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 

In W)'cliff'e s conscious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 



CANTO II.] ROKEB^ . 

On his pale brow the dew-drop broke, 
And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 

xxir. 

" A murd'rer ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
Yet, grant such strange confession trae, 
Pursuit were vain— let him ily far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And follow'd now in Wycliffe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck, 
Chafd not against the curb more high 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implor'd his saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 

xxr. 
" Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall, 
By that base traitor's dastard ball, 
Just when I thought to measure sword, 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murd'rer 'scape, who slew 
His leader, gen'rous, brave, and true ? 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride! 
Beset the wood on ev'ry side. 
But if among you one there be. 
That honours Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and shamei 
And foul suspicion dog your name !" 



471 



472 ROKEBY. CCANTOn. t 



Instant to eartt young Redmond sprang r 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's baud. 
Who waited not their lord's command.. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pistols in his belt he plac'd, 
The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps traced. 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark !" — and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On raffian desp'rate of his life, 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ' 
Five hundred nobles for his head '" 



The horsemen gallop'd to make good 

Each path that issued from the wood. 

Loud from the thickets rung the shout 

Of Redmond and his eager route; 

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire. 

And envj'ing Redmond's martial fire, 

And emulous of fame. — But where 

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir? 

He, bound by honour, law, and faith, 

Avenger of his kinsman's death? — 

Leaning against the elmin tree, 

With drooping head and slacken'd knee. 

And clenched teeth, and close-clasp'd hands. 

In agony of soul he stands ! 

His downcast eye on earth is bent. 

His soul to ev'ry sound is lent ; 

For in each shout that cleaves the air. 

May ring discov' ry and despair. 

XXVIII. 

What 'vail'd it him, that brightly play'd 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade? 
All seems in giddy round to ride, 
Like objects on a storm j tide, 



CANTO n.] BOKEBY. 

Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 
Iinperi'ectly to sink and swim. 
What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, 
Its battled mansion, hill and plain, 
On which the sun so brightly shone. 
Envied so long, was now his o\vn? 
The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 
Of Brackenbury's dismal tow'r, 
Had been his choice, could such a doom 
Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
Forc'd, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each sunnise of hope or fear, 
Murmur'd among the nistics round, 
Who gathered at the larum sound; 
He dar'd not turn his head away. 
E'en to look up to heaven to pray. 
Or call on hell, in bitter mood. 
For one sharp death-shot from the vrood ! 



473 



At length o'erpast that dreadful space, 
Back straggling came the scatter d chase; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man. 
Returned the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arriv'd to say, 
All trace was lost of Bertram's way, 
Though Redmond still, up Brignall wood, 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued.— 
O, fatal doom of human race ! 
What tyrant passions passions chase ! 
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, 
Av'rice and pride resume their throne; 
The pang of instant terror by. 
They dictate thus, their slave's reply : 



" Ay — let him range like hasty hoimd 1 
And if the gxim wolf's lair be found, 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond, or with Risingham, 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
Thy fair MatUda, all so coy 



474 



[CANTO EL 



To thee, is of another mood 

To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 

Thy ditties will she freely praise, 

And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; 

In a rough path will oft command — 

Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 

His she avoids, or, urg'd and pray'd, 

Unwilling takes his profier'd aid, 

"While conscious passion plainly speaks 

In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 

Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh. 

And all her soul is in her eye ; 

Yet doubts she still to tender free 

The wonted words of courtesy. 

These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh, 

And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 

Thine shall she be, if thou attend 

The counsels of thy sire and friend. 



" Scarce wert thou gone, vchen peep of light 

Brought genuine news of Marstou's light. 

Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide, 

And conquest bless'd the rightful side; 

Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 

Rupert and that bold Marquis Hed ; 

Nobles and knights, so proud of late. 

Must tine for freedom and estate. 

Of these, committed to my chai'ge. 

Is Rokeby, prisoner at large; 

Redmond, his page, arrived to say 

He reaches Barnard's tow'rs to-day. 

Right hea^y shall his ransom be. 

Unless that maid compound with thee ! 

Go to her now — be bold of cheer 

While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear: 

It is the very cliange of tide, 

A\'hen best the female heart is tried — 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty, 

Are in the current swept to sea ; 

And the bold swain, who plies his oar 

May lightly row his bark to shore." 



CANTO nr.J ROKEBY. 475 



CANTO THIRD. 



The hunting tribes of air and earth 

Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
Nature, "who loves the claim of kind, 
Less cruel chase to each assign'd. 
The falcon, pois'd on soaring wing, 
Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair ; 
The grejhound presses on the hai"e ; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Ev'n tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Their likeness and their lineage spare, 
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, 
And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 
Pl}-ing war's desultory trade, 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 
At first the bloody game begun. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey, 

Who hears the settlers track his way, 

And knows in distant forest far 

Camp his red brethren of the war ; 

He, when each double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries. 

Low crouching now his head to hide. 

Where swampy streams through rushea glide, 

Now cov'ring with the wither'd leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew receives ; 

He, skill'd in ev'ry silvan guile. 

Knows not, nor tries, such various wiLe, 

As Risingham, when on the Avind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dar'd. 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswalr high 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry, 



476 ItOliKBV, LCANTO IIL 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 
And well his vent'rous life had proved 
The lessons that his childhood lov'd.* 



Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, 
The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
The speed, that in the flii,'ht or chase 
Outstripped the Charib'a rapid race 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; 
The iron frame, inur'd to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air. 
Nor less confirm'd to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throes 
These arts he prov'd, his life to save 
In peril oft by land and wave, 
On Arawaca's desert shore, 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried, 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 



Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 

He prov'd his courage, art, and speed. 

Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace. 

Now started forth in rapid race. 

Oft doubling back in mazy train. 

To blind the trace the dews retain ; 

Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 

To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 

The echo of his footsteps drown'd. 

* Beidsvvair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives uame, is oa 
the veiy edse of the Carter-Fell, which divides England from 
Bcotlaiid, The Rookeu is a place upon Reedwater. Bertram, 
being described as a native ot these dales, where the habits of 
hostile depredation long survived the union of tlie crowns, may 
have been, in some decree, prepared by education for the exercise 
of a similar trade in the wars of the Bucaniers. 



CAJVTO in. J ROKEDV. 

But if the forest verge he nears, 

There trample steeds, and glimmer spears ; 

If deeper down the copse he drew, 

He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 

Beating each cover while they came. 

As if to start the silvan game. 

'TAvas then — like tiger close beset 

At ev'ry pass with toil and net, 

'Counter'd where'er he turns his glare. 

By clashing arms and torches' flare, 

Who meditates, with furious bound. 

To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — 

'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose. 

Prompting to rush upon his foes : 

But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 

By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd. 

Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 

And couches in the brake and fern, 

Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 

Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 

Who paus'd to list for ev'ry sound, 

Climb'd ev'ry height to look around. 

Then rashing on with naked sword. 

Each dingle's bosky depths explor'd. 

'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 

'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 

Disorder'd from his glowing cheek ; 

Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. 

A form more active, light, and strong, 

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 

The modest, yet the manly mien. 

Might grace the court of maiden queen; 

A face more fair you Avell might find. 

For Redmonds knew the sun and wmd, 

Nor boasted, from their tinge when &es, 

The charm of regularity ; 

Bat ev'ry feature had the pow'r 

To aid th' expitssion of the hour : 



477 



478 ROKEBY. tCANTOm. 

Whether gay wit, and humour sly, 
Danc'd laughing in his light-blue eye ; 
Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 
And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire; 
Or soft and sadden'd glances show 
Her ready sympathy with woe ; 
Or in that wayward mood of mind, 
When various feelings are combin'd, 
When joy and sorrow mingle near. 
And hope's bright wings are check'd by feaTj 
And rising doubts keep transport down, 
And anger lends a short-livM frown; 
In that strange mood which maids approve 
Ev'n when they dare not call it love ; 
With every change his features play'j. 
As aspens show the light and shade. 



Well Risingham young Redmond knew : 
And much he marvell'd that the crew, 
Rous'd to revenge bold Mortham dead, 
Were by that Moiihara's foeman led; 
For never felt his soul the woe, 
That wails a gen'rous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong. 
That wreaks a gen'rous foeman's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Where Bertram couch d like hunted deer^ 
The veiy boughs his steps displace. 
Rustled against the ruffian's face. 
Who, desp'rate, twice prepar'd to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart! 
But Redmond turn'd a difTrent way, 
And the bent boughs resum'd their sway, 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thvis, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red and glist'iiing eye, 
Prepar'd, if heedless step draw nigh, 



CANTO III.] ROKEBY. 

With forked tongue and venora'd fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah "wind, 
Some undisturb'd retreat to find, 

VII. 

But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
And heard the loud pursuit renew, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
Oft mutter'd in his savage mind — 
"■ Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see. 
But the grey cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud. 
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud ' 
No I nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower," 
Eluded, now behind him die. 
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry ; 
He stands In Scargill wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive ery. 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild, 
The summer sun in quiet smil'd. 

VIII. 

He listen'd long with anxious heart. 
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start. 
And, while his stretch'd attention glows^ 
Refus'd his wearj' frame repose. 
'Twas silence all — he laid him down. 
Where purple heath profusely strowTX 
And throatwort with its azure bell, 
And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 
There, spent with toil, he listless ey'd 
The course of Greta's playful tide ; 
Beneath, her banks now eddying dun. 
Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone, 
In yellow light her currents shone, 



479 



480 ROKEBV. [CANTO IIL 

Matching in hue the fav'rite gem 

Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 

Then, tir'd to watch the current's play, 

He turn'd his weary eyes away, 

To where the hank opposing show'd 

Its huge, square cliifs, through shaggy wood. 

One, prominent above tlie rest, 

Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast ; 

Around its broken summit grew 

The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 

A thousand varied lichens dy'd 

Its waste and weather-beaten side 

And round its rugged basis lay, 

By time or thunder rent away. 

Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn. 

Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 

Such was the scene's wild majesty. 

That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye. 



In sullen mood he lay reclin'd, 

Revolving, in his stormy mind, 

The felon deed, the fi-uitless guilt. 

His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 

A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread. 

That it had pow'r to wake the dead. 

Then, pond'ring on his life beti'ay'd 

By Oswald's ait to Redmond's blade, 

In treach'rous pui-pose to withhold. 

So seem'd it, Moitham's promis'd gold, 

A deep and full revenge he vow'd 

On Redmond, forward, tierce, and proud ; 

Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 

Redoubl'd vengeance, swift and dire ! — 

If, in such mood, (as legends say. 

And well believ'd that simple day,) 

The Enemy of Man has pow'r 

To profit by the evil hour. 

Here stood a wretch, prepar'd to change 

His soul's redemption for revenge !* 

* It is agreed by all -n-riters upon magic and witchcraft, that re- 
venge was the most common motive for the pretended compact be- 
tween Satan and his vassals. 



CANTO m.] ROKEBY. 

But though his vows, wilh such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance da,rk and fell, were made. 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade. 
No deejier clouds the grove enihiown'd. 
No nether thunders shook the ground; — 
The demon knew his vassals heait, 
And spar'd temptation's needless art 

X. 

Oft, mingled with the direful theme.. 

Came Moitham's form — Was it a dream? 

Or had he seen, in vision true, 

That very Mortham whom he slew? 

Or had in living" ilesh appear'd 

The only man on earth he fear'd? — 

To try the mystic cause intent. 

His eyes, that on the cliff were hent, 

'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance, 

Like sunbeam flash'd from sword or lance. 

At once he started as for fight, 

But not a foeman was in sight ; 

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse. 

He heard the river's sounding course; 

The solitary woodlands lay, 

As slumb'ring in the summer ray. 

He gaz'd, like lion rous'd, around, 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam, 

Glanc'd sudden from the sparkling stream ; 

Then plung'd him from his gloomy train 

Of ill-connected thoughts again, 

Until a voice behind him cried, 

" Bertram ! well met on Greta side." 

XI. 
Instant his sword was in his hand, 
As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
Yet, dubious still, oppos'd he stood 
To hiei that issued from the wood : 
•'• Guy Denzil ! — is it thou?" he said; 
" Do we two meet in Scargill shade !- — 
Stand back a space I — thy purpose show 
'Whether thou com'st as friend or foet 



481 



482 



[CAirro m. 



Report hath said, that Denzil's name 

From Rokeby's band was raz'd -with shame." — 

" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 

Who told his knight, in peevish zeal. 

Of my marauding on the clowms 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs.* 

I reck not. In a war to strive, 

Where, save the leaders, none can thrive. 

Suits ill my mood ; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 

Who watch'd with me in midnight dark, 

To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 

How think'st thou ?" — " Speak thy purpose out j 

I love not mystery or doubt."— 



" Then, list. — Not far there lurk a crew 

Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 

Glean'd from both factions — Roundheads, freed 

From cant of sermon and of creed ; 

And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine. 

Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 

Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 

A warfare of our o^vn to hold. 

Than breathe our last on battle-down. 

For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 

Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 

A chief and leader lack we yet.— 

Thou art a wand'rer, it is said ; 

For Mortham's death, thy steps way-laid, 

Thy head at price — so say our spies, 

Who range the valley in disguise. 

Join then with us : — though wild debate 

And wrangling rend our infant state. 

Each to an equal loath to boAV, 

Will yield to chief renown'd as thou." 



* The troops of the King, when they first took the field, were as 
well disciplined as could be expected from circumstances. But as 
the circumstances of Charles became less lavoii cable, and his fuiids 
for regularly paying his forces decreased, habits of military license 
prevculed among them in greater excess. 



CANTO HL] 



ROKEBT. 483 



XIII. 

" E'en now," thought Bertram, " passion-atirr'd, 

I caird on hell, and hell has heard! 

What lack I, vengeance to command, 

But of stanch comrades such a band ? 

This Denzil, vow'd to ev'rj' evil. 

Might read a lesson to the devil. 

Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 

Shall ser^e as my revenge's tool." — 

Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Gruy, 

But tell me where thy comrades lie.'" — 

" Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said; 

" Descend, and cross the river's bed, 

Where rises yonder cliff so grey." 

" Do thou," said Bertram, "• lead the way. 

Then mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 

Guy Denzil's faith was never pure." 

He foUow'd do^vn the steep descent, 

Then through the Greta's streams they went; 

And, when they reach'd the farther shore, 

They stood the lonely cliff before. 

xir. 
With wonder Bertram heard within 
The flinty rock a murmur 'd din ; 
But when Guj pull'd the wilding spray, 
And brambles, from its base away. 
He saw, appearing to the air, 
A little entrance, low and square. 
Like op'ning cell of hermit lone. 
Dark, winding through the living stone. 
Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here ; 
And loud and louder on their ear. 
As from the bowels of the earth. 
Resounded shouts of boist'rous mirth. 
Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 
And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's wave. 
E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. 
Where, far within the darksome rift, 
The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
But war had sileuc'd rural trade. 
And the deserted mine was made 



484 ROKEBY. [CANTO HL 

The banquet-hall and fortress too. 
Of Denzii and his desp'rate crew. — 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 
There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
Guilt-bom Excess, the goblet di-aitfd 
Still in his slumb'ring grasp retain' d; 
Regret was there, his eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the feasters waited near 
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driv'n, 
With his own crimes reproaching heav'n ; 
While Bertram show'd, amid the crew. 
The Master- Fiend that Milton drew. 



Hark ! the loud revel wakes again. 

To greet the leader of the train. 

Behold the group by the pale lamp, 

That struggles with the earthy damp. 

By what strange features Vice has known, 

To single out and mark her own ! 

Yet some there are, whose brows retain 

Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 

A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls recUn'd, 

An early image fills his mind : 

The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, 

Embower d upon the banks of Tees ; 

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene. 

And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, 

Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. 

On him they call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat ; 

Fast Hies his dream — with dauutle&s air. 

As one victorious o'er Despair, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round. 

Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd ; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he, 

The life of all their revelry* 



CANIO III.] KOi^iCiiY. 485 

Peals his loud song ! — The rLuse tias found 
Her blossoms ou the Nvildest ground, 
'Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd. 
Themselves all profitless and rude. — 
With desp'rate merriment he sung, 
The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse s bitter agony. 

XVI. 

SONG. 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there, 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 



"O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
And Greta woods are green ; 

I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 
Than reign our English queen." — 



" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tow'r and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we, 

That dwell by dale and doAvn? 
And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, 

As blithe as Queen of May." — 

Chorus. 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reign our English queen. 



486 ROKEBY. [CANTO IM. 



" I read you, by your bugle-hom, 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn, 

To keep the king's gi-eenwood." — 
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry mom, j 

And mine at dead of night." — 

Chorus. ' 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta Avoods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

"With burnish'd brand and musketoon, 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." — 
*'I list no more the tuck of drum. 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take the spear. 

Chorus. 
''■ And, O ! though Briguall banks be fair, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 

Would reign my Queen of May ' 



" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'll die ; 
Tlie fiend, whose lantern lights the mead. 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I'm with my comrades vast, 

Beneath the greenwood bough. 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 



CANTO III.} ROKEBY'. 

Chorus. 
Yet Brignall banks aro fresh and fair. 
And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer tpeen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng, 
Till wak'd some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrels}'. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
Of import foul and fierce, designed, 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth of murder'd ^iortham hung; " 
Though half he fear'd his daring tongue. 
When it should give his wishes birth, 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 



At length his wondrous tale he told : 
When, sconiful, smil'd his comrade bold ; 
For, train'd in licence of a court. 
Religion's self was DenziPs sport : 
Then judge in what contempt he held 
The visionary tales of eld 1 
His awe for Bertram scarce repressed 
The unbeliever s sneering jest. 
" 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer 
To spell the subject of your fear ; 
Nor do I boast the art renown' d, 
Vision and omen to expound, 
Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
To spectre watching treasur d hoard, 
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof, 
Bidding the jdund'rer stand aloof. 
This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt; 
For why his e;uard on Mortham hold, 
When Kokeby castle hath the gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil. 
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?' — 



487 



488 



[CANTO m. 



At this lie paus'd — fov angry shame 

Lower'd on the brow of Risinghnm. 

He blush'd to think, that he should seem 

Assertor of an airy dream, 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

" Deuzil," he says, " though lowly laid, 

Wrong not the mem'ry of the dead ; 

For, while he liv'd, at Mortham's look 

Thy ver}- soul, Guy DenzU, shook ! 

And when he tax'd thy breach of word 

To yon fair rose of Allenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound. 

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 

The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 

He won it bravely with his brand. 

When Spain Avag'd warfare with our land. 

Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer, 

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear 

Mine is but half the demon's lot, 

For I believe, but tremble not, — 

Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 

Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stor'd ; 

Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 

His treasure with his faction's foe ?'" 



Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-tim'd mirtli: 

Rather he would have seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answer'd, — " Mortham's mind, 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclin'd. 

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since return'd from over sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numb'd the current of his blood. 

Hence he refus'd each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable haU, 



CANTO m.] ROKEBT. 

And our stout knight, at da\vn of mom 

Who lov'd to hear the bugle-horn, 

Nor less, -when eve his oaks embro"wii'd^. 

To see the ruddj' cup go round, 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refus'd to share his chase and cheer ; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar, 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's ^vealth is destiu'd heir."— 

XXII. 
" Destin'd to her ! to j'on slight maid I 
The prize my life had well nigh paid, 
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's Avave 
I fought, my patron's wealth to save ! — 
Denzil, I knew him long, but ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier. 
Whom youthful friends and early fame 
Caird soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew, 
Desp'rate and dark, whom no one knew ; 
And rose, as men with us must rise. 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he rov'd, 
As danger for itself he lov'd ; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
III was the omen if he smil'd, 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laugh' d, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
Foremost he fought in ev'ry broil. 
Then scornful turu'd him from the spoil; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, ev'n then, to suc'n as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity'. 

XXllI. 
'* I lov'd him well — His fearless parf, 
His gallant leadmg, won my heart. 



xl 



490 ROKEBY. CCANl'O IlL 

And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangl'd for his right, 
Redeem'd his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thrice sav'd his life, 
And once amid our comrades' strife.-^ 
Yes, I have lov'd thee ! Well hath prov'd 
My toil, my danger, how I lov'd ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
In grate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" be look'd around, 
And sternly stamp' d upon the ground — 
"■ Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Ev'n as this morn it met mine eye, 
And give me, if thou dar'st, the lie !" 
He paus'd — then, calm and passiou-freed, 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 



*' Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 

What thou hast cause to wot so well, 

How Superstition's nets were twin'd 

Around the Lord of Mortham's mind , 

But since he drove thee from his tower, 

A maid he found in Greta's bower, 

Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway, 

To charm his evil fiend away. 

I know not if her features mov'd 

Remembrance of the wife he lov'd ; 

But he would gaze upon her eye, 

Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 

He, whom no living mortal sought 

To question of his secret thought. 

Now ev'ry thought and care confess'd 

To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 

Nor was there aught of rich and rare, 

In earth, in ocean, or in air. 

But it must deck Matilda's hair. 

Her love still bound him unto life ; 

But then awoke the civil strife, 

And menials bore, by his commands, 

Three coffers, with ibeir iron bands, 



CANTO III.] ROKEBY. 491 

From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep. 
I'o her lone bo^Ye^ in Kokeby-Keep, 
Poud'rous -with gold and plate of pride — 
Hia gift, if he in battle died." — 



" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 

These iron-banded chests to gain ; 

Else, wherefore should he hover here. 

Where many a peril waits him near, 

For all his feats of war and peace, 

For plunder d boors, and harts of grease? 

Since tlu-ough the hamlets as he far'd. 

What hearth has Guy's marauding spar'd. 

Or where the chase that hath not rung 

With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung?'' — 

*' I hold my wont — my rangers go, 

Ev'n now to track a milk-white doe. 

By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair. 

In Greta wood she harbours fair, 

And when my huntsman marks her way. 

What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 

Were Rokeby's daughter in our power, 

We rate her ransom at her dower.'" — 



" 'Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought. 

Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 

And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said. 

Pays lover's homage to the maid. 

Bertram she scorn 'd — If met by chance, 

She turn'd from me her shudd'riug glance, 

Like a nice dame, that will not brook 

On what she hates and loathes to look ; 

She told to Mortham she could ne'er 

Behold me without secret fear. 

Foreboding evil : — She may rue 

To find her prophecy fall true ! — 

The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 

Few foll'wers in his halls remain ; 

If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 

We are enow to storm the hold ; 



492 ROKEBY. [CANTO in. 

Bear off tlie plunder, and the dame. 
And leave the casLle all in iiame." — • 

xxvir. 

"• Still art thou Valour's vent'rous son ! 

Yet ponder tirst the risk to run : 

The menials of the castle, true. 

And stul)born to their charge, though few ; 

The wall to scale — the moat to cross — ■ 

The wicket-grate — the inner fosse" 

" Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 

On what fair guerdon can we sei^e ? 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched ^leasant's fenceless door, 

And the best prize we bear away, 

The earnings of his sordid day." 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair. 

Thou w-ouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath. 

Or wantonness, a desp'rate path? 

List then ; — for vantage or assault. 

From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 

Each pass of Rokeby-house I know: 

There is one postern, dark and low, 

That issues at a secret spot. 

By most neglected or forgot. 

Now, could a spial of our train 

On fair pretext admittance gain. 

That sally-port might be unbarrM : 

Then, vain were battlement and ward !" 

XXVIII. 

" Now speak' st thou well : — to me the same, 

If force or art shall urge the game ; 

Indift'rent, if like fox I wind. 

Or spriiig like tiger on the hind. — 

But, hark ! our merry men so gay 

Troll forth another roundelay." — 

SONO. 



' A weary lot is tliine, fair rnaitl, 
A weary lot is thine ! 



CU^O in.] ROIiEBY. 

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soIdiiVs mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew, 

^ My love ! 

No more of me you knew. 

" This mom is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow, 

Ere we tAvo meet again." 
He tum'd his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore. 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — 



" "What youth is this, your band among. 
The best for minstrelsy and song ? 
In his Avild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now centered all in Brignall cave ! 
I watcli him well — his wapvard course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft graz'd his heart, 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest. 
By fits, the darling and the jest. 
His harp, his story, and his lay. 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 
When unemploj-Vl, each fier}' mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them, with a blither Ftrain. 



494 ROKEBV. ccAirro m. 



SOXCJ. 
Ali-en-a-Dai,*. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
AUen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride. 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
The chase for the Avild, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 

-Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright ; 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; 

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. 

Who at Rere-cross* on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
The mother, she ask'd of his household and home ; 
'* Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still ; 
'Tis the blue vault of heav'n, with its crescent so pale, 
And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale. 

The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone : 
But loud, on the moiTow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye. 
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale I 

XXXI. 

" Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay. 
Love mingles ever in his lay. 

* This is a fragment of an old cross, -wityi its pediment, Bur- 
rounded by an intrenchment, upon the very summit of the %vasl«> 
ridce of Stanmore, near h. suiaU house of eutertaiiiment called the 
Spittal. 



CAI^TO IV.] EOKEBY. 495 

But when his boyish wapvard fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various shape." — 

" Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 
Soft ! who comes here? ' — " My trusty spy. 
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer?" — 
" I have — but two fair stags are near. 

1 watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, 
And then young Redmond, in his pride. 
Shot down to meet them on their way : 
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net, 
Before their path be homeward set." 

A hurried and a whisper'd speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
Who, turning to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 
When Denmark's raven soar'd on high, 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,* 
Till, hov'ring near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke. 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, 
Thund'ring o'er Caldron and High- Force ; 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name, 

* About the year of God 866, the Danes, under their celebrated 
leaders Ingaar (more properly Affnar) and Hubba, sons, it is said, 
of the still more celebrated Rejjnar Lodbrog, invaded >'oi thumber- 
land, bringing with them the magical standard, so often mention- 
ed in poetry, called KiAKKs, or Raunfau, from its bearing the 
figure ot a raven. They renewed and extended their incursions, 
and began to colonize, estibiishing a kind of capital at York, from 
wliich they spr^ul their conquests and incursioos in erery direo- 



496 ROKKBT. 

Rear'd higli their altars' rugged stone, 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 
Then, Balder, one hleak garth "vvas thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place, 
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse. 
Near Stratforth high thej^ paid their vows, 
Remember'd Thor's victorious fame, 
And gave the dell the Thund'rer's name. 

Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween. 
Who ga^e that soft and quiet scene. 
With all its varied light and shade, 
And every little sunny glade. 
And the blithe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with sum.raer song. 
To the grim (rod of blood and scar, 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O, better were its banks assign'd 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede, 
And the rath primrose decks the mead. 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown 
Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly; 
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencill'd flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 



Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting ev'ry sunny glade. 
In fair variety of green 
The woodland lends its silvan screen. 



[CANTO TV 



CANTO IV.l ROKEBT. 

Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, 
Its boughs by -weight of ages broke ; 
And tow'rs erect, in sable spire, 
The pine-tree scath'd by lightning-fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch, between, 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath, at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 
Or, round the stems profusely twin'd. 
Fling summer odours on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd. 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On ^lars's !Mount the God Unknown ! 
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh. 
Though bent by age, in spiiit high : 
There rose the scar-seam' d vet'ran's spear. 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 
"While Childhood at her foot was plac'd 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 



" And rest we here," Matilda said. 
And sate her in the varj-ing shade. 
Chance-met, we well may steal an houi", 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, "Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
Dang'rous to one of aid bereft, 
Well nigh an orphan, and alone. 
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown," 
"Wilfrid, with wonted kindness grac'd. 
Beside her on the turf she plac'd ; 
Then paus'd, with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh, 
Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
Drew backward as in modest awe. 
And sat a little space remov'd, 
Umnark'd to gaze on her he lov'd. 



497 



498 



rCANlO TV. 



Wreath'd in its dark-bro-\vn rings, her hair 

Half bid Matilda's forehead fair. 

Half hid and half reveal'd to view 

Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 

The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 

So slightly ting'd the maiden's cheek, 

That you had said her hue was pale ; 

But if she fac'd the summer gale, 

Or spoke, or sung, or quicker mov'd, 

Or heard the praise of those she lov'd. 

Or when of int'rest was express'd 

Aught that wak'd feeling in her breast, 

The mantling blood in ready play 

Rivall'd the blush of rising day. 

There was a soft and pensive grace 

A cast of thought upon her face, 

That suited well the forehead high, 

The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 

The maid expression spoke a mind 

]n duty firm, compos'd, resign'd: — • 

'Tis that which Roman art lias giv'a. 

To mark their maiden Queen of Heav' 

In hours of sport, that mood gave way 

To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 

And when the dance, or tale, or song. 

In harmless mirth sped time along. 

Full oft her doting sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 

But days of war, and civil crime, 

Allow'd but ill such festal time, 

And her soft pensiveness of brow 

Had deepen'd into sadness now. 

In Marstou field her father ta'en, 

Her friends dispers'd, brave Mortham slain, 

While ev'ry ill hei- soul foretold, 

From Oswald's thirst of jiow'r and gold, 

And boding thoughts that she must part, 

With a soft vision of her heart, — 

All lower'd around the lovely maid, 

To darken her dejection's shade. 



GAMTO IV.l ROKEBT. 4il» 

VI. 

VMio has not heard — while Eriu yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 
Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 
In English blood imbnied his steel, 
Against St George's cross blaz'd high 
The banners of his Tanistry, 
To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil? 
But chief arose his victor pride, 
AVhen that brave Marshal fought and died * 
And Avon- Duff to ocean bore 
His billows red with Saxon gore. 
'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 
Rokeby and Mortham prov'd their might. 
There had they fall'n among the rest. 
But pity toucli'd a chieftain's breast ; 
The Taiiist be to great O'Neale ;+ 
He check'd his foU'wers' bloody zeal, 
To quarter took the kinsman bold, 
And ])ore them to his mountain-hold. 
Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show, 
Shar'd with them Erin's festal cheer, 
Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer. 
And, when a fitting time was come. 
Safe and unransom'd sent them home. 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A gen'rous foe's respect and love. 

* The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the Kng-lish \va» 
ill a battle fought near Blackwater, wliile he besiegjuil a fort 
garrisoned by the English, which commanded the psisses into his 
country. He is said to have entertained a personal animosity 
a^cainst the knight-marshal, Sir Henry B^ital, whom he ac- 
cused of detaining the letters which he' sent to Queen Kli/.abetli, 
explanatory of his conduct, and offerins; terms of submission. The 
river, called by the English, Black water, is termed in Irish, Avou- 
Dutf. which has the same signification. 

+ When an Irish chiet died, it was not the eldest son who suc- 
ceeded to his authority, but a captain cler.ted for the o. casion ; 
after whom the eldest son was geiieriilly nominated the Tanist, 
that is, the successor to the captain. The Tanist. therefore, of 
O'Neale, was the heir apparent of his power. This kind of suc- 
cession appears also to have regulated, in very remote times, the 
succession to the crown of Scotland. It would have been impru- 



ilent, if not impossible, to have asserted a minor's right of succes- 
sion in those stormy days, when the principles of policy were the 
mere itnpvilses of seinshiieM and vioieiice. 



500 EOKKBY. CCANTO IV 



Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoj^'d, by Greta's wave, 
The peace which James the Peaceful gavc^ 
While Mortham, far beyond the main, 
Wag'd his fierce wars ou Indian Spain. — 
It chanc'd upon a wintry night. 
That whiten "d Stanmore's stormy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd, 
In Rokeby hall the cups were fill'd. 
And by the huge stone chimney sate 
The Knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate, 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 
The porter answer'd to the call. 
And instant rush'd into the hall 
A Man, whose aspect and attire 
Startled ihe circle by the fir-e. 



His plaited hair in elf-locks spread* 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim, 

His vesture show'd the sinewy limb ; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast ; 

A mantle long and loose he wore, 

Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore. 

He clasp'd a burden to his heart, 

And, resting on a knotted dart. 

The snow from hair and beard he shook. 

And round him gaz'd with wilder'd look. 

* It would seem, that the ancient Irish dress was (the bonnet 
excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish Highlanders. The 
want of a covering on the head \ras supplied by the mode of plait- 
ing and arranging their hair, which was called the glibbe These 
glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, sinoe, 
when he wished to disguise himself, he could either cut it off en- 
tirely, or so piill it ovisr his eyes £is to render it very hard to 
recognise him. 



CA.VTO IV.] uoKEnr. 501 

Then up tlie hall, -with stagg'riBg pace 
He hasten'd by the blaze to place. 
Half lifeless from the bitter air, 
His load, a Bo)- of beauty rare. 
I'd Rokelty, next, he louted low, 
Then stood erect his tale to show, 
With wild majestic port and tone. 
Like envoy of some barb'rous throne.* 
"!*'ir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear! 
'J'urlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Youug Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
He bids thee breed him as thy son, 
For Turlough's days of joy are done; 
And other lords have seiz'd his land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapour flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul. 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due. 
But, in his absence, honours you. — 
Now is my master's message by. 
And Ferraught will contented die." 

IX. 

His look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale, 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild, 
And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 
Poor Ferraught rais'd his wistful eyes. 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries : 
All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
And kiss'd the little hands outspread. 
And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head. 

* The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and 
■with each other, were wcat to assume the language and style of 
independent royalty. 



502 RCKEBY. [CANTO IV. 

And, in his native tongue and phrase, 
Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was falter'd from his breast, 
And half by dying signs expressed, 
" Bless thee, 0'^'eale !" he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 



'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the Child to end the tale : 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam. 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand. 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
That hung beside the grey wolf's head, — 
'Twas from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was his guide,* 
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 
Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 
And stripp'd of all, his failing strerigth 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renew'd again his moaning wild. 

XI. 

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows. 
Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze comes by. 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan Child 
Soon on his new protector smil'd. 
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair, 
But blithest laugh'd that cheek and eye, 
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh ; 

* There was no tie more sacred among the Irish than that \riiich 
connected the foster-father, as well as the muEe heiscl^ with the 
child they brought upi 



CANTO IV.J ROKEBY. 

'Twas his, -vvith elder brother's priJe, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guiae ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue, 
To soothe her infant ear he sung. 
And primrose twin'd with daisy fair, 
f o form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 
The children still were hand and hand, 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 

XII. 
But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit; 
And years draw on our human span, 
From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felou boar, 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 
And loves, against the deer so dun, 
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 
And down its cluiter'd stores to hail, 
\Miere young Matilda holds her veil. 
And she, whose veil receives tlie showei*. 
Is alter'd too, and knows her power ; 
Assumes a monitress's pride, 
Her Redmond's dang'rous sports to chide : 
Yet listens still to hear him tell 
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell, 
How at his fall the bugle rung. 
Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 
Then blesses her, that man can find 
A pastime of such savage kind ] 

XIII. 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale. 
And knew so well each point to trace. 
Gives living int'rest to the chase. 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
liLs spirit's wild romantic i'low. 



503 



504 



[CANTO lY. 



That, while she blam'd, and wLiie she fear'd. 

She lov'd each veut'rous tale she heard, 

Oft, too, ^vheIl drifted suow aud ram 

To bow'r aud hall their steps restrain. 

Together they explored the page 

Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 

Oft plac'd the ev'ning lire beside, 

The minstrel art alternate tried. 

While gladsome harp and lively lay 

Bade winter night Hit fast away : 

Thus from their childhood blending still 

Their sport, their study, and their skilL, 

An union of the soul they prove, 

But must not think that it was love. 

But though they dar'd not, envious Fame 

Soon dar'd to give that union name ; 

And when so often, side by side. 

From year to year the pair she ey'd, 

She sometimes blam'd the ^ood old Knight. 

As dull of ear and dim of sight, 

Sometime his purpose would declare. 

That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 



The suit of AVilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; 
'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favour well nigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of oheer, 
With mutual looks of shame and fear; 
Now must Matilda stray apart, 
To school her disobedient heart : 
And Kedmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware, 
No rebel's son should wed his heir; 
Aud Redmond, nurtur'd while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild. 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream 
To cherish there a happier dream, 
Of maiden won by sword or lauoe. 
As in the regions of romance ; 



CANTO IV.] 



ROKRBY. 505 



And count the heroes of bis line, 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,* 
Shane- Dymasf wild, and CTeraldine,J 
And Connan-more, who voVd his race 
For ever to the fight and chase, 
And curs'd him, of liis liueaire bom. 
Should sheathe the sword to reap the com, 
Or leave the mountain and the wold. 
To shioud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he drew. 
And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 

XV. 

If hrides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid, 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 
On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his life. 
And well did Rokeby's gen'rous Knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
Nor was his lib'ral care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the North Riding broad and wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride. 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a brand; 
And then, of humour kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy. 
There never youth was form'd to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale, 

XVI. 
Sir Richard lov'd him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were done, 

» Neal Nai?hvallacli. nr Of the Xine Hnstages, is said to have 
been mniiHrch "f all Iiel-md, during the end of the fourth or be- 
ginning of the fifth century. 

+ This Shane- Dvinas, or John the Wanton, held the title and 
power of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, agaiust 
whom he rebelled repeatedly. 

X The ONcals were closely allied with this powerful and war- 
like family. This Cnn-More cursed any of his posterity who should 
le.<rn the English lanaruage, sow corn, or build houses, so 33 toil> 
vite the English to settle iu their country. 

y 



606 ROKEEY. [canto IV. 

And to the gales of war lie gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguish'd by his care. 
He chose that honour'd flag to bear. 
And nam'd his page, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry.* 
In five pitch'd fields he well maintain'd 
The honour'd place his v/orth obtain' d, 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blaz'd in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smil'd on Marston fight. 
The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful stnfe, 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
But when he saw him pris'ner made. 
He kiss'd and then resign'd his blade, 
And yielded him an easy prey 
"to those who led the Knight away ; 
Resolv'd Matilda's sire should prove. 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 



TV hen lovers meet in adverse hour, 

'Tis like a sun-glimpse tlirough a shower, 

A watery ray, an instant seen. 

The darkly closing clouds between. . 

As Redmond on the turf reclin'd, 

The past and present fill'd his mind : 

" It was not thus," Affection said, 

" I dream' d of my return, dear maid ! 

Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 

I took the banner and the brand. 

When round me as the bugles blew. 

Their blades three hundred waniors drew. 

And, while the standard I unroll'd, 

Clash'd their bright arms, with clamour bold. 



* Originally, the order of chivzdry embraced three raiilcs:— 1. 
The Pa!j;e; 2. The Squire; 3. The Knight.— But, before the rei^ 
of Charles I., the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into dis- 
use, though the order of ihe page was still, to a certain degree, in 
observance. This state of servitude was so f\r from iuferriiiganv 
thin^ degrading, that it was considered as the regular school fo'i 
acquiring every quality necessary for future distinction. 



CANTO IV.] ROKEBY. 

Where is tliat banner now? — its pride 
Lies Vhelm'd in Ouse's sixUen tide ! 
Where now these warriors? — in their gare- 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor ; 
And what avails a useless brand. 
Held by a captive's shackled hand. 
That only would his life retain. 
To aid thy sire to bear his cham !" 
Thus Redmond to himself apart ; 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart ; 
For ^Mlfrid, while his gen'rous soul 
Disdain'd to profit by control. 
By many a sign could mark too plain. 
Save with such aid, his hopes were xaSuXr— 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their mournful musing fly, 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 

XVIII. 

" I need not to my friends recall, 

How Mortham shimn'd my father's ball; 

A man of silence and of woe, 

Yet ever anxious to bestow 

On my poor self whate'er could prove 

A kinsman's confidence and love. 

My feeble aid could sometimes chase 

The clouds of sorrow for a space : 

But oft'ner, fix'd beyond my pow'r, 

I mark'd his deep despondence low*r. 

One dismal cause, by all unguess'd. 

His fearful confidence confess'd ; 

And twice it was my hap to see 

Examples of that agony. 

Which for a season can o'erstrain 

And wreck the structure of the brain. 

He had the awful pow'r to know 

Th' approaching mental overthrow, 

And while his mind had courage yet 

To struggle with the dreadful fit. 

The victim wTith'd against its throes, 

Like wretch beneath a murd'rer's blo'WS. 



607 



508 ROKEBT. [CANTO IV 

This malady, I well covild mark, 

Sprung from some direful cause and dark ; 

But still he kept its source conceal d, 
Till arming for the civil field ; 
Then in my charge he bade me hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold. 
With this disjointed dismal scroll. 
That tells the secret of his soul. 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forc'd astray." 



MORTHAM S HISTORY. 
" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start, 
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart, 
When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
Wak'd mem'ry of my former days. 
Believe that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past; 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain, 
And blood and rage my manhood stain. 
And my grey hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend ! 
E'en thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is kno"wii, 
And must I lift the bloody veil. 
That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease I 
Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
Thus haunted, thiiik'st thou 1 have skill, 
Thine own commission to fulfil? 
Or, while thou point' st with gesture fierce, 
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse, 
How can I paint thee as thou wert. 
So fair in face, so warm in heart I — 

XX. 

" Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was like the sunny glow. 
That laughs on earth and ail below I 
We wedded secret — there was need — 
Diffring in country and in creed ; 



CANTO IV.] ROKEBY. 509 

And when to Mortliam's to-w'r she came, 
We mention'd not her race and name. 
Until thy sire, who fought afar, 
Should turn him home from foreign •war, 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we liv'd retir'd, unknown. 
To all but one dear friend alone, 
One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget, 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 
That spar'd me penitential time. 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 

XXI. 

" A kindly smile to all she lent. 

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 

So kind, that from its harmless glee, 

The wretch misconsti-ued villany. 

Repuls'd in his presumptuous love, 

A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd, 

My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 

When through the alley'd walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edith glide, 

Cow'ring beneath the verdant screen. 

As cue unwilling to be seen. 

Words cannot j^aint the fiendish smile. 

That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while 

Fiercely I r^uestion'd of the cause ; 

He made a cold and artful pause, 

Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood- 

' There was a gallant in the wood f — 

We had been shooting at the deer; 

My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near : 

riiat ready weapon of my wrath 

I caught, and, hasting up the path. 

In the yew grove my wife I found, 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound; 



510 ROKEEY. CCA>'TO IV. 

I mark'd his heart — the bow I dt-e-w — 
I loos'd the shaft — 'twas more than true ! 
I found my Edith's dying charms 
Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms ! 
He came in secret to inquire 
Her state, and reconcile her sire. 

XXIT. 

" All fled my rage — the villain first, 
Whose craft my jealousy had nurs'd ; 
He sought in far and foreign^ clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crimes. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 
Some tale my faithful steward fram'd 
I know not what — of shaft mis-aim'd ; 
And ev'n from those the act who knew. 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouch'd by human laws I stood, 
But God had heard the cry of blood ! 
There is a blank upoii my mind. 
A fearful vision ill-defin'd. 
Of raving till my flesh was torn, 
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — ■ 
And when I wak'd to woe more mild. 
And question'd of my infant child — 
(Have I not -m-itten, that she bare 
A boy, like summer morning fair ?) — 
With looks confus'd my menials tell, 
That armed men in Mortham dell 
Beset the nurse's evening way, 
And bore her, with her charge away. 
My faithless friend, and none but he, 
Could profit by this villany ; 
Him then, I sought, with purpose dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
He 'scap'd me — but my bosom's wound 
Some faint relief from wand'ring found ; 
And over distant land and sea, 
I bore my load of miser}'. 

xxin. 
" 'Tv.-as then that fate my footsteps led 
Among a daring crew and diead, 



CANTO n'o KOKiiijr. 

With whom full oft my hated life, 

I ventured in such desp'rate strife. 

That e'en my fierce associates saw 

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then I learn'd, and much can show, 

Of human guilt and human woe, 

Yet ne'er have, in my wand'rings, known 

A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own ! — 

It chaiic'd, that after battle fray, 

Upon the bloody field we lay ; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead. 

While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd. 

My ruffian comrades slept around. 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 

'Ah, wretch !' it said, 'Avhat mak'st thoulieie) 

While unaveng'd my bloody bier, 

While unprotected lives mine heir, 

Without a father's name and care ?' 



*' I heard — ohey'd — and homeward drew; 

The fiercest of our desp'rate crew 

I brought at time of need to aid 

My purpos'd vengeance, long delay' d. 

But, humble be my thanks to Heav'n, 

That better hopes and thoughts has giv'n. 

And by our Lord's dear pray'r has taught, 

Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 

I et me in misery rejoice — 

I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 

I claim'd of him my only child — 

As he diso^\^l'd the theft, he smil'd ! 

That very calm and callous look. 

That fiendish sneer his visage took, 

As when he said, in scornful mood, 

' There is a gallant in the wood !' — 

I did not slay him as he stood — 

All praise be to my Maker jrlv'u ! 

Long suff'i-ance is one path to heav'n." 



511 



512 



[CANTO IV. 



Thus far the -woeful tale was heard. 
When something in the thicket stirr'd. 
Up Redmond sprung ; the villain Guy, 
(For he it was that iurk'd so nigh,) 
Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
For all the treasur'd gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 
Redmond resum'd his seat- — he said. 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laugh'd grimly, when he saw 
His tim'rous comrade backward draw. 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me my carabine — I'll show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know, 
How thou may'st safely quell a foe." 

XXVI. 

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 

The spreading birch and hazels through, 

Till he had Redmond full in view ; 

Tlie gun he levell'd — Mark like this 

Was Bertram never known to miss, 

When fair oppos'd to aim there sate 

An object of his mortal hate. 

That day young Redmond's death had seen, 

But twice Matilda came between 

The carabine and Redmond's breast. 

Just ere the spring his finger press'd. 

A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 

But yet his fell design forbore : 

^ It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said. 

That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid T 

Then mov'd to seek more open aim. 

When to his side Guy Denzil came : 

"■ Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 

For ever, if thou fire the gun. 

By all the fiends, an ai-med force 

Descends the dell, of foot and horse 



CANTO IVO llOICEBT. 

We perish if tliey hear a shot — 
^Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be ml d, and bear thee back! 
Behold, do\\-n yonder hollow track. 
The warlike leader of the band 
Conies, with his broadsword in his hand." 
Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd ti-ue. 
Then curs'd his fortune and withdrew. 
Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 

XXVII. 

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
Docm'd to captivity or death. 
Their thoughts to one sad subject lent. 
Saw not nor heard the ambushraent. 
Heedless and unconcem'd they sate, 
"While on the very verge of fate ; 
Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd. 
When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd; 
As ships drift darkling down the tide. 
Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 
Uninterrupted thus they heard 
What Mortham's closing tale declar'd. 
He spoke of wealth as of a load. 
By Fortune on a wretch bestow' d. 
In bitter mockery of hate. 
His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
But yet he pray'd jNIatiida's care 
Might save that treasure for his heir — 
His Edith's son — for still he rav'd 
As confident his life was sav'd ; 
In frequent vision, he averr'd, 
He saw his face, his voice he heard, 
Then argued calm — had murder been, 
The blood, the coi-pses, had been seen; 
Some had pretended too, to mark 
On Windermere a stranger bark, 
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild. 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and pie3s!d 
Hope seem'd to kindle in his breast ; 
t2 



613 



514 ROKEBY. CANTO IV 

Though inconsistent, vague, and vaiu. 
It warp'd his judgment, and his brain. 

XXVIII. 

These solemn words his story close : — 
" Heav'u witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Mov'd by no cause but England's right. 
My countrj^'s groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
These righted, I tiing arms aside, 
And seek my son through Europe wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh, 
Already casts a grasping eye, 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears, 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
Perish'd is Mortham's race and name. 
Then let it leave her gen'rous hand, 
And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded pris'ner's lot, 
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot ; 
So spoils, acquir'd by fight afar. 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 



The gen'rous youths, who well had knoun. 

Of Mortham's mind the pow'rful tone. 

To that high mind, by sorrow swerv'd. 

Gave sympathy his woes deserv'd ; 

But Wilfrid chief, v.ho saw reveal'd. 

Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd, 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his \^-ilder'd fancy drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell, 

That she would share her father's cell. 

His partner of captivity, 

AVhere'cr his prison house should be ; 

Yet griev'd to think that Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled, and forsook by all, 

Open to rapine and to stealth, 

Had now no safe-guard for the wealth. 



615 



Intrusted by her kinsman kind, 

And for buch noble use df.sign'd. 

" ^^'as Barnard Cattle then her choice,** 

AVilfrid inquirM with hasty voice, 

" Since there the victor's laws ordain, / 

Her father naust a space remain?" 

A iiutter'd hope his accents shook, 

A flutter'd joy was in his look. 

Matilda hasten'd to reply, 

For anger flash'd in Eedinond's eye; — 

" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 

" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 

Else had I for my sire assigned 

Prison less galling to his mind. 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which se^.^ 

And hears the muiTnur of the Tees, 

Recalling thus, with ev'r}' glance. 

What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 

But where those woes are highest, there 

Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." 



He felt the kindly check she gave, 

And stood abash' d — then answer'd grave : — 

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine owTa command. 

So wills my sire, a gallant band. 

And well could send some horseman wight, 

To bear the treasure forth by night. 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem." — 

" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, tlrnnks," she said : 

" O, be it not one day delay'd ! 

And, more thy sister-friend to aid, 

Be thou thyself content to hold. 

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 

iSafest with thee."— vNliile thus she spoke, 

Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke, 

The same of whose approach afraid. 

The ruffians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low. 

Then look'd around as for a foe. 



516 ROKEBY. CCAXTO y 

" What mean'st thou, friend," young Wycliffe said 

" Wliy thus in arms beset the glade ?" 

" That would I gladly learn from you. 

For up my squadron as I drew, 

To exercise our martial game 

Upon the moor of Barninghame, 

A stranger told you were waylaid. 

Surrounded, and to death betray'd. 

He had a leader's voice, I ween, 

A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 

He bade me bring you instant aid; 

I doubted not, and I obey'd." 

Wilfrid chang'd colour, and amaz'd, 
TurnM short, and on the speaker gaz'd ; 
While Redmond evVy thicket round 
Track'd earnest as a questing hound, 
And Denzil's carabine he found ; 
Sure evidence, by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 
Wisest it seemM, with cautious speed 
To leave tlie dell. It was agreed. 
That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
And fitting guard, should home repair ; 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend. 
With a strong band, his sister-friend, 
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers. 
Secret and safe the banded chests. 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose fix'd, they part, 
Each with a griev'd and anxious heart. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



The sultry summer day is done, 
The western hills have hid the sun, 
But mountain peak and village spire, 
Retain reflection of his fire. 



•-jr 




Old Bamards towers axe pviipie still, 
To -diose that gaze fiiora ToUer-iulL: 
Distant and tii^tL. ttie tower .^t. 3cfwey 
f.ike steel lapoox the anvii g' : 



CANTO v.] ROKEBY. 

Old Barnard's toVrs are purple still. 
To tho^e that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
Distant and high, the toVr of Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Staumore's ridge, behind that lay. 
Rich -with the spoils of parting day, 
In crimson and in gold array'd, 
Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 
Then slow resigns to dark'uing heaven 
The tints which brighter hours had given. 
Thus as:ed men, full loath and slow. 
The vanities of life forego. 
And count their youthful follies o'er, 
rill Mem'ry lends her light no more. 



The eve, that slow on upland fades, 
Has darker clos'd on Rokeby's glades, 
"Where sunk within their banks profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontide made a twilight broAvn, 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows, 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
Far louder clamoar'd Greta's tide. 
And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
And litful wak'd the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. 
AVilfrid, whose fancy-nurtur'd soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control. 
With lighter footstep press'd the ground 
And often paus'd to look around; 
And though his path was to his love, 
Could not but linger in the grove. 
To drink the thrilling int'rnst dear, 
Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we. 
E'en -when our passions strike the key. 



517 



518 ROKEBY. [CANTO V, 



Now, through the wood's dark mazes past. 
The opening lawn he reach'd at last, 
Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray, 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 
Those martial terrors long were fled. 
That frown'd of old around its head : 
The battlements, the turrets grey, 
Seem'd half abandon'd to decay ; 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foeman's work had done. 
Where banners the invader brav'd. 
The harebell now and wallflower wav'd ; 
In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze, 
On the pav'd floor the spindle plays ; 
The flanking guns dismounted lie, 
The moat is ruinous and dry. 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall. 



But yet precautions, lately ta'en, 

Show'd danger's day reviv'd again ; 

The court-yard wall show'd marks of care, 

The fall'n defences to repair, 

Lending such strength as might withstand 

The insult of marauding band. 

The beams once more were taught to bear 

The trembling drawbridge into air. 

And not, till question'd o'er and o'er^ 

For Wilfrid oped the jealous dooT ; 

And when he enter'd, bolt and bar 

Resum'd their place with sullen jar ; 

Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch, 

The old grey porter rais'd his torch. 

And view'd him o'er, from, foot to head, 

Ere to the hall his steps he led. 

That huge old hall, of knightly state. 

Dismantled seem'd and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts of stone. 

Which cross'd the lattic'd oriels, shone, 



CANTO v.] ROKEBT. 

And by the mournful light she gave, 
The (jothic vault seem d funeril cave. 
Pennon and banner wav'd no more 
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, 
Nor glimmering arms were n.arahaird seen, 
To glance those silvan spoils between. 
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 
Accomplish d Kokeby's brave array. 
But all were lost on Marston's day I 
Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 
Where annour yet adorns the wall, 
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
And useless in the modern fight ! 
Like vet' ran relic of the wars, 
Kno-ftTi only by neglected scars. 

V. 

Matilda soon to greet him came, 
And bade them light the evening flame '. 
Sard, all for parting was prepar a. 
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
But then, reluctant to unfold 
His father's avarice of gold, 
He hinted, that lest jealous eye 
Should on their precious burden pry, 
He judg'd it best the castle gate 
To enter when the night wore late ; 
And therefore he had left command 
With those he trusted of his band, 
That they should be at Rokeby met, 
What time the midnight- watch was set. 
Now Redmond came, whose anxious caro 
Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleas'd. 
His cold unready hand he seiz'd, 
And press'd it, till his kindly etrain, 
The gentle youth return' d again. 
Seem'd as between them this was saixl, 
"A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 



519 



120 



[cAinro V 



v:. 

There was no speech the truce to bind, 

It was a compact of the mind. 

A gen'rous thought, at once impress'd 

On either rival's gen'rous breast, 

Matilda well the secret took, 

From sudden change of mien and look; 

And — for not small had been her fear 

Of jealous ire and danger near — 

Felt, ev"n in her dejected state, 

A joy beyond the reach of fate. 

They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 

And talk'd, and hop'd for happier days, 

And lent their spirits' rising glow | 

A while to gild impending woe ; 

High privilege of youthful time. 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime I | 

The bick'ring fagot sparkl'd bright, j 

And gave the scene of love to sight, 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 

Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow. 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 

And laugh'd in Redmond's azure e^'e. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate, 

Without a glance of jealous hate; 

The maid her lovers sat between, 

With open brow and equal mien; — 

It is a sight but rarely spied. 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 

VII. 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate, 
And ere the tardy porter stirr'd, 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell, 
Bore burden to the music well. 

SONG. 

" Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is falling fast ; 
I have wander'd all the day. 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 



CANTO V.J KOKEBY. 

Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 
Take the wand' ring harper in f 

But the stern porter answer gave, 

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave ! 

The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 

Were meeter trade for such as thou." 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answer d the ready Minstrel's strain, 

SONG — resumed. 

" Bid not me, in battle-field. 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart, 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel-string." — 

The porter, all unmov'd, replied, — 
Depart in peace, with Heav'n to guide ; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou ghalt not part so well." 



With somewhat of appealing look, 
The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 
" These notes so wild and ready thrill, 
They show no vulgar minstieFs skill ; 
Hard were his task to seek a home 
More distant, since the night is come ; 
And for his faith I dare engage — 
Your Harpool's blood is sourd by age; 
His gate, once readily dispiay'd. 
To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
Now e'en to me, though known of old. 
Did but reluctantly unfold.'' — 
" O blame not, as poor Harpool's ci'imc. 
An evil of this evil time. 
He deems dependent on his care. 
The safety of his patron's heir, 
Nor judges meet to ope tiie tow'r 
To guest unknown at paning hour, 



52 J 



£>22 ROKKbi-. 

Urging liis duty to excess 

Of rough aud stubborn faithfulness. 

For this poor harper, I would fain 

He may relax : — Hark to his strain V — • 

IX. 

SONG — resumed. 
" I have soug of war for knight, 
Lay of love for lady bright, 
Fairy tale to lull the heir. 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night, and long till day. 
Do net bid me farther stray ! 

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name ; 
Legends of their line there be. 
Known to fev>r, but known to me ; 
If you hououi- Kokeby's kin. 
Take the wand'ring harper in ! 

" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well. 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin, 
Take the weary harper in !'* — ■ 

" Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope," 
Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope."- 
— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow. 
Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow," 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
That well could strike with sword amain. 
And of the valiant sou of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph; 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
If thou canst tell it in yon shade 
Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 



lCANTO V. 



CANTO v.] ROKEBY. i23 



Matilda smil'd ; "Cold hope," said she, 
"• From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
But, for this harper, may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend his couch and fare ?^ — 
— '' O, ask not me ! — At minstrel-string 
My heart from infancy ■would spring ; 
Mor can I hear its simplest strain, 
But it brings Erin's di-eam again, 
^^'hen plac'd by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
(The Filea of 6'Neale was he,* 
A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
"Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
I've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
With aspect shagg)% wild and stem. 
Enchanted by the master's lay. 
Linger around the livelong day, 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy. 
And feel each varied change of sonl 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no morej'f' 
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze, 
Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth. 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
All undistinguish'd in the glade, 
?,Iy sires' glad home is prostrate laid. 
Their vassals wander wide and far, 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy !' 
He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside, 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 



* The Filea, or OUamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as the 
Dame literally implies, poi-t. Each chieftain of distiuction had one 
or more in his serWce, whose office wM usually hereditary. 

+ Clandeboy is a district of Ul-ter, formerly possessed by tho 
sept of the O'Xeales, and Slieve-Doiiard, a romantic mountam iu 
the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great ro- 
beUion, and their places of abode laid desolate. 



524 



[CANTO 7. 



Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 

AVas glist'uiiig ere O'Neale's was dry. 

Her hand upon liis arm she laid, — 

"• It is the will of heav'n," she said. 

" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 

From this lov'd home with lightsome heart, 

Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 

Ev'u from my infancy was dear? 

For in this calm domestic hound 

AVere all Matilda's pleasures found. 

That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 

Full soon may be a stranger's place; 

This hall, in which a child I play'd, 

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid, 

The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 

Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine. 

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 

Yet is this consolation giv'n, 

My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heav'n." 

Her word, her action, and her phraso 

"Were kindly as in early days ; 

For cold reserve had lost its pow'r. 

In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 

Young Redmond dar'd not trust his voice 

But rather had it been his choice 

To share that melancholy hour. 

Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's pow'r, 

In full possession to enjoy 

Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XII. 
The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ; 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
" Happy in friendship's ready aid. 
Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
And Rokeby's Maiden will not part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody heait. 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame. 
The hospitable hearth shall iiame. 
And, ere its native heir retire. 
Find for the wand'rer rest and fire, 



C^>'TO VO 



ROKBBY, 



525 



AWiile tliii poor harper, by the blaze, 

Recounts the tale ot other days. 

Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 

Admit liim, and relieve each need. — 

Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 

Thy minstrel skill? — Nay, no reply — 

And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought. 

Thy verse with laurels would be bought ; 

And poor Matilda, landless now, 

Has not a garland for thy brow. 

Ti-ue, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades, 

^ or wander more in Greta shades ; 

But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 

Wilt a short prison- walk allow, 

Where summer flow'rs grow wild at vrill. 

On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ; 

Then holly green and lily gay 

Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." 

The mournful youth, a space aside, 

To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 

And then a low sad descant rung, 

As prelude to the lay he sung. 

XIII. 

SONG. 
Thk Ctpbkss Wbkatb. 

O, Lady, twine no wreath for me. 
Or twine it oi the c}-press-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light. 
The varnish d holly's all too bright. 
The May-llow'r and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me. 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree I 

Let dimpl'd Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me^ 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 



>2G 



Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dpar; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew ; 
On favoured Erin's crest be seen 
The llow'r she loves of em'raid green — 
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Strike the wild hai-p, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for rumstrers hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when you hear the passing bell, 
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, 
And twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Yes ! twine tor me the cypress bough ; 
But, O Matilda, tAvine not now ! 
Stay till a few brief months are past, 
And 1 have look'd and lovM my last! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With panzies, rosemar)', and rue, — 
Then, Lady, weave a w reath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 



O'Neale observed the starting tear. 

And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer 

" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 

When mourns the land thy silent lay^ 

Shall many a wreath be freely wove 

By hand of friendship and of love. 

I would not wish that rigid Fate 

Had doom'd thee to a captive s state, 

Whose hands are bound by honour's law. 

Who wears a sword he must not draw ; 

But were it so, in minstrel pride 

The land together would we ride. 

On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 

Bound for the halls of barons bold, 

Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 

From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak. 



CAXTO V.J ROKEBY. 52? 

Survey wild Albin's mountain strand, 
And roam green Erin's lovely land, 
While thou the gentler souls should move. 
With lay of pity and of love, 
And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 
Would sing of war and warriors slaiu. 
Old England's bards were vanquished then, 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, 
And, silenc'd on lemian shore, 
M'Curtin's harp should charm no more !"* 
In lively mood he spoke, to wile 
From Wilfrid's "woe-worn cheek a smile. 



" But," said Matilda, " ere thy name, 

Good Redmond, gain its destin'd fame. 

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 

Thy brother-minstrel to the hall? 

Bid ail the household, too, attend, 

Each in his rank a humble friend ; 

I know their faithful hearts will grieve. 

When their poor Mistress takes her leave ; 

So let the horn and beaker flow 

To mitigate their parting woe." 

The harper came ; — in youth's first prime 

Himself ; in mode of olden time 

His garb was fashion'd, to express 

The ancient English minstrel's dress, 

A seemly gown of Kendal green. 

With gorget clos'd of silver sheen ; 

His harp in silken scarf was slung, 

And by his side an aniace hung. 

It seem'd some masquer's quaint array. 

For revel or for holiday. 

XVI. 

He made obeisance vnth. a free 

Yet studied air of courtesy. 

Each look and accent, fram'd to please, 

Seem"d to affect a playful ease ; 

* ^TacCurtiii, hereditary OUamh of North Munster, ajld Filea 
t,> Doiiough, Earl oiThouioud and Preoideut of Monster, 



628 ROKEBi'. LC.VMt) V 

His face was of tliat doubtful kind, 
That wins the eye, but not the mind; 
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
His was the subtle look and sly. 
That, spying all, seems nought to spy : 
Round all the group his glances stole, 
Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look. 
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
To the suspicious, or the old. 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seem'd this self-invited guest; 
But young our lovers, — and the rest, 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall, 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 

XVII. 

All that expression base was gone. 

When wak'd the guest his minstrel tone ; 

It fled at inspiration's call, 

As erst the demon fled from Saul. 

More noble glance he cast around. 

More free-drawn breath inspir'd the sound. 

His pulse beat bolder and more high, 

In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 

His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 

Its vices wild and follies vain. 

And gave the talent, with him born, 

To be a common curse and scorn. 

Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid, 

With condescending kindness, pray'd 

Here to renew the strain she lov'd, 

At distance heard and -well approv'd- 



C.VN'TO VO 



ROKEBY, 

xvm. 

SONG. 



520 



Thk Haep. 
I was a "wild and -vraTward boy. 
My childhood scorn'd each childish toy; 
Retir d from all, reserv'd and coy. 

To musing prone, 
I ■woo'd my solitary joy. 

My harp alone. 

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
Despis'd the humble stream and 'wood, 
"Where my poor father's cottage stood. 

To fame unknown ; — 
What should my soaring views make good? 

My harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire, 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
The baron's daughter heard my lyre, 

And prais'd the tone; — 
"What could presumptuous hope inspire? 

My harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
And manhood's pride the vision curst, 
And all that had my folly nurs'd 

Love's sway to OAvn ; 
Yet spar"d the spell that lull'd me first, 

My harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want vdth woe? 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught atone 
My fields laid waste, my cot laid low ? 

My harp alone ! 

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 
Have rued of penury the smart, 
Have felt of love the venom'd dart, 

When hope was ilown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 

My harp alone ! 



530 ROKEB-V. [CANTO V. 

Then over mountain, moor, and hill. 
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still. 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is well nigh gone. 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 

My Plarp alone ! 



" A pleasing lay !" Matilda said ; 

But Harpool shook his old grey head, 

And took his baton and his torch, 

To seek his guard-room in the porch. 

Edmund observed — with sudden change. 

Among the strings his fingers range, 

Until they wak'd a bolder glee 

Of military melody ; 

Then paus'd amid the martial sound. 

And look'd with well-feigu'd fear around ; 

" None to this noble house belong," 

He said, " that would a Minstrel wrong. 

Whose fate has been, through good and ill, 

To love his Royal Master still ; 

And, with your honoured leave, would fain 

Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 

Then, as assured by sign and look, 

The warlike tone again he took ; 

And Harpool stopp'd, and turn'd to hear 

A ditty of the Cavalier. 

XX. 

SONG. 

The Cavalier. 

"While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey, 
My true love has mounted his steed and away, 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that lights for the 
Crown! 

He has doiTd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear. 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair. 
From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs 

down, — 
Heaven shield the brave Grallant that fights for the 

Crown ! 



CANTO v.] 



631 



For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws, 
Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; 
His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Cro'vm. 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all 
The round headed rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud toTiOi, 
That the spears of the North ha% e encircled the Crown. 

There's Derby and Cavendish, diead of their foes. 
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose! 
Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and 

Brown, 
With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown I 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear. 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown. 
In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown. 

XXI. 
" Alas !" Matilda said, " that strain, 
Good harper, now is heard in vain ! 
The time has been, at such a sound, 
When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now, the stirring verse we hear, 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear ! 
Listless and sad the notes we own. 
The pow'r to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Ev'n when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heir such pow'r retains, 
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains ; — 
And, lend thy harp ; I fain would try. 
If my poor skill can aught supply. 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
To mourn the cause in which we falL" 



The harper, with a downcast loolc. 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. — 



632 



nOKKBY. 



[CANTO V 



As yet, tne conscions pride of art- 
Had i^teePd him in nis treach'rous part: 
A powerful sjn'iiig, of force uiii(ness''d. 
That halh each gentler mood suppress'd. 
And reii^n'd in many a human l)reast* 
From his that plans the red campaign, 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The failing wing, the hlood-shot eye,— 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill. 
The vet' ran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle s roar, 
Loves still the triumph of his art. 
And traces on the pencilFd chart 
Some stern invader's destin d way. 
Through blood and ruin to his prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditated crime? 
What against pity arms his heart? — 
It is the conscious pride of art. 

XXIII. 
But principles in Edmund's mind 
W'ere baseless, vague, and undefin'd. 
His soul, like barS with rudder lost. 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost; 
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the pow'r 
Beyond th' impression of the hour : 
And, O ! when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
Yet now she rous'd her — for the pride. 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied. 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that mourn'd Matilda's woes. 



Thb Fareweli.. 



The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 
They mingle with the song : 



CANTO V.J BOKEBT. 533 

Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From ev'ry lovM and native haunt 

The native Heir must stray. 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt. 

Must part before the day. 
Soon from the halls my fathers reared, 

Their scutcheons may descend. 
A line so long belov'd and fear'd 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

The Lady paus'd, and then again 
Resmn"d the lay in loftier strain. 

XXVI. 

Let our halls and tow'rs decay. 

Be cm: name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass aAvay, — 

AN'e but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken, 
Still in deatli, defeat, and woe, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

Constant still in danger's hour. 

Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honours, wealth and pow'r. 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and pow'r, and pride ! 

Mortal boons by mortals given j 
But let Constancy abide, — 

Constancy's the gift of Heaven. 



While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'i 
In peasant life he might have known 
As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
But village notes could ne'er supply 
That rich and varied melody; 



534 KOKEBY. [CANTO V. 

And ne'er m cottasfe-mald was seen 

The easy dignity oi mien. 

Claiming respect, yet waving state. 

That marks the daughters of the great, 

Yet not, perchance, had these ahine 

His scheme of purpos'd guilt o'eithro"wn. 

But wliile her energy of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combiu'd. 

Lending its kindling to her eye, 

(jiving her form new majesty, — 

To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd 

The very object he had dream'd ; 

When, long ere guilt his soul had known. 

In Winston bow'rs he mus'd alone. 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine, 

Of princess fair, by cruel fate 

Reft of her honours, pow'r, and state. 

Till to her rightful realm restor'd 

By destiu'd hero's conqu'ring sword. 



"Such was my Ansion !" Edmund thought; 

" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 

In fairest vision form'd her peer? 

Was it my hand that could unclose 

The postern to her rutliless foes ? 

Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith. 

Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 

Have 1 dorie tliis ? I ! ^^ho have swore. 

That if the globe such angel bore, 

I would have trac'd its circle broad. 

To kiss the ground on which she trode! — 

And now— O ! would that earth would rive, 

And close upon me while alive ! — 

Is there no hope? Is all then lost? — 

Bertram's already ou his post ! 

Ev'n now, be^de the Hall's arch'd door, 

I saw his shadow cross the floor 1 

He was to wait my signal strain 

A little respite tLua we gain : 



C-OTO V.-] ROKEBT. 535 

By what I heard the menials say, 

Young Wycliffe's troop are ou their wav' — 

Alarm precipitates the crime ! 

My harp must woai- away the time." — • 

And then, in accents faint and low, 

He falter'd forth a tale of woe. 

XXVII. 
BALLAD. 

" And -whither would you lead me, then ?" 

Quoth the Friar of orders grey ; 
And the RufiBaus twain replied again, 

'• By a dying woman to pray." — 

"I see," he said, "a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright, 

With an infant on her arm." — 

" Then do thine office, Friar grey. 

And see thou shrive her free ! 
Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 

Fling all its guilt on thee. 

" Let mass be said, and trentals read. 

When thou'rt to convent gone, 
And bid the bell cf St Benedict 

Toll out its deepest tone." 

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone. 

Blindfolded as he came — 
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an alter 'd man. 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray. 

If he hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way. 

He'll beard him in his pride — 
If he meet a Friar of orders grey, 

He droops and turns aside. 

XXVIII. 

*' Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 
Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 



536 ROKEBY. 



[CAM TO V. 



Well nigh my fancy can discern. 

Near the dark jjorch, a visage stern ; 

E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 

I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 

A human form distinct and clear — 

God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" 

She saw too true. Stride after stride, 

The centre of that chamber wide 

Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stand, 

And, proudly waving with his hand, 

Thunder'd — " Be still, upon your lives !— 

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." 

Behind their chief, the robber crew 

Forth from the darkened portal drew, 

In silence — save that echo dread 

Return'd their heavy measured tread. 

The lamp's uncertain lustre gave I 

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 

File after file in order pass. 

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. i 

Then, halting at their leader's sign. 

At once they form'd and curv'd their line. 

Hemming within its crescent drear 

Their victims, like a herd of deer. 

Another sign, and to the aim 

LeveU'd at once their muskets came. 

As waiting but their chieftain's word, 

To make their fatal volley heard. 

XXIX. 

Back in a heap the menials drew ; 
Yet, ev'n in mortal terror, true, 
Their pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
"O, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried: 
" Undo that wicket by thy side ! 
Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood — 
The pass may be a while made good — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
O speak not — dally not — but fly !" 
While yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Through the low wicket door they glide. 



CANTO v.] ROKEBY. 

Through vaulted passages they wind, 

111 Gothic intricacy twin'd ; 

Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 

Matilda to the poFtern-door, 

And ?afe beneath the forest tree, 

Tlie Lady stands at liberty. 

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 

Benew'd suspended consciousness ; — 

" Where's Redmond ? ' eagerly she cries : 

Thou ansvver'st not — he dies ! he dies J 

And thou hast left him, all bereft 

Of mortal aid — with murd'rers left ! 

I know it well — he would not yield 

His sword to man — his doom is seal'd ! 

For my scorn'd life, which thou hast bought 

At price of his, I thank thee not." 

XXX. 

Th! unjust reproach, the angry look. 

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook, 

" Lady," he said, " my band so near. 

In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn. 

If mine can buy his safe return." 

He turn'd away — his heart throltb'd high. 

The tear was bursting from his eye ; 

Tlie sense of her injustice press'd' 

Upon the Maid's djbtracted breast, — 

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 

He heard, but turn'd him not again ; 

He reaches now the postern-door. 

Now enters — and is seen no more. 



537 



With all the agony that e'er 
Was gender'd twixt suspense and fear, 
She watch'd the line of windows tall. 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hal], 
Distinguish'd by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed. 
While ail beside in wan moonlight . 
Each grated casement glimmer'd white. 
" z2 



538 ROKEBY. 

I No sight of hami, no sound of ill, 



CCANTO V. 



It is a deep and midnight stiii. 
Who loolc'd upon the scene, had guess'd 
All in the Castle were at rest : 
When sudden on the windows shone 
A lightening flash, just seen and gone ! 
A shot is heard — Again the flame 
Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came ; 
Then echo'd wildly, from within, 
Of shout and scream the mingled din, 
And weapon-clash and madd'ning cry, 
Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 
As fill'd the Hall with sulph'rous smoke, 
More red, more dark, the death-flash broke , 
And forms were on the lattice cast. 
That struck or sti-uggled, as they past. 



What sounds upon the midnight 'wind 

Approach so rapidly hehind ? 

It is, it is the tramp of steeds, 

Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 

Seizes upon the leader's rein — 

" O, haste to aid, ere aid he vain ! 

Fly to the postern — gain the Hall !" 

From saddle spring the troopers all ; 

Their gallant steeds, at liberty, 

Run wild along the moonlight lea. 

But, ere they burst upon the scene, 

Full stubborn had the conflict been. 

When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight. 

It gave tlie signal for the fight ; 

And Rokeby's vetVans, seani'd with scars 

Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars. 

Their momentarj' panic o'er, 

Stood to the arms which then they bore 

(For they were weapon'd, and prepared 

Their Mistress on her way to guard.) 

Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale, 

Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the steel', 

The war-smoke soon witli sable breath 

Darken'd the scene of blood and death. 



CANTO v.] llUlvKBY, 539 

While on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, with redoubled blows. 
And twice driv'n back, yet fierce and fell, 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 



Wilfrid has fall'n — but o'er him stood 

Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood, 

Cheering his mates with heart and hand 

Still to make good their desp'rate stand, 

" Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halls 

Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 

What ! faint ye for their savage cry, 

Or do the smoke- wreaths daunt your eye ? 

These rafters have return'd a shout 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout, 

As thick a smoke these hearths have given 

At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.* 

Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 

Fsr Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 

These slaves ! they dare not, baud to hand. 

Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 

Impetuous, active, fierce, and young. 

Upon til' advancing foes he sprung. 

Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 

His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent ! 

Backward they scatter'd as he came, 

Like wolves before the levin flame, 

When, mid their howling conclave driven, 

Hath glanc'd the thunderbolt of heaven. 

Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasp'd. 

His knees, although in death he gasp'd, 

His falling corpse before him Hung, 

And round the trammell'd ruffian clung. 

Just then, the soldiers fill'd the dome, 

And, shouting, charg'd the felons home 

So fiercely, that in panic dread, 

They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled, 

Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 

Though heard above the battle's roar ; 

« Such an exhortation was, in similar oircumstancf^ actoaHjr 
given to hi.s followers by a Welsh chieftain. 



540 



[CANTO V. 



While, trampling dov.Ti the dying man, 
He strove, ^vith voUey'd threat and ban, 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the despVate tight. 
XXXIV. 

Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold. 
Than e'er from battle-thunders rolPd I 
So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow, 
Smoth'ring and blindfold grows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! , 
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rushing ilame ; 
New horrors on the tunmlt dire 
Arise — the Castle is on fire ! 
Doubtful, if chance had oast the brand. 
Or frantic Bertram's des])'rate hand. 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
Yon tow'r, which late so clear defiu'd 
On the fair hemisphere reclin'd. 
That, pencill'd on its azure pure. 
The eye could count each embrasure. 
Now, swath'd within the sweeping cloud. 
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; 
Till, from each loop-hole Hashing light, 
A spout of tire shines ruddy bright. 
And, gath'ring to united glare. 
Streams high into the midnight air ; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide, 
That waken'd Greta's slumb'ring side. 
Soon all beneath, through gall'ry long 
And pendant arch, the fire tlash'd strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reign ; 
Startling, with closer cause of dread, 
The females v.'ho the conflict lied. 
And now rush'd forth upon the plain, 
Filling the air with clamours vain. 

XXXV. 

But ceas'd not yet, the Hall within. 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 



:^^ 



ca>;to vo rokeby. 

Till bursting lattices give proof 

The flames liave caught the rafter'd roof. 

What ! wait thev tilF its beams amain 

Crash on the slavers and the slain.' 

Th' alarm is caught — the drawbridge falls. 

The warriors hurry from the vralls, 

But, by the conflagration's light, 

Upon the lawn renew the fight. 

Each straggling felon down was hew'd. 

Not one could gain the shelt'ring wood; 

But forth th' affrighted hai-per spnmg, 

And to Matilda's robe he clung. 

Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 

Stopp'd the pursuer s lifted hand, 

Denzil and he alive were taen ; 

The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 



641 



And where h Bertram ? — Soaring high. 
The gen'ral flame ascends the sky ; 
In gather'd group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
"When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element. 
To plague and to pollute the air, — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair. 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandish'd sword on high he rears, 
Then plung'd among opposing spears ; 
Hound his left arm his mantle truss'd, 
Receiv'd and foilVl three lances' thrust. 
Nor these his headlong course withstood. 
Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood. 
In vain his foes around him clung ; 
"With matchless force aside he flimg 
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
Through foity foes his path he made. 
And safely gain'd the forest glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
^Vhen from the postern Redmond bore 



542 llOKLBY. [CANTO VX 

Wilfrid, ^vllo, as of life bereft. 
Had in the fatal Hall been left. 
Deserted there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw, and turn'd again. — 
Beneath an oak he laid him down, 
That in the blaze gleam'd ruddy bro-mi. 
And then his mantle's clasp undid; 
Matilda held his drooping head. 
Till, giv'n to breathe the freer air, 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gaz'd on them with heavy sigh, — 
"• I could have wish'd ev'n thus to die T* 
No more he said — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regained his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood array'd, 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda lookM behind. 
As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread. 
The clouded heav'n lower'd bloody red : 
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tow'r, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
A space the conflagration drown'd ; 
Till, gathering strength, again it rose, 
Announc'd its triumph in its close. 
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk— and Rokeby was no more ! 



CANTO SIXTH. 



I. 

The summer sun, whose early yow'r 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bow'r. 



CANTO VI.] ROKEBY. 

And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay, 
That morning sun has three times seen 
The liow'rs unfold on Rokeby green. 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak. 
But, rising from their silvan screen, 
IMarks no grey turrets' glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tow'r, 
That, hissing to the morning show'r. 
Can but with smould'ring vapour pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labour bound, 
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound. 
Striving, amid the ruin'd space. 
Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 
That length of frail and tire-scorch'd wall 
Once screen'd the hospitable hall ; 
When yondtr broken arch was whole, 
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole ; 
And where yon tott'ring columns nod. 
The chapel sent the hymn to God. — 
So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the pow'r of Time and Fate. 
The toAv'rs must share the builders doom ; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heav'n 
To Faith and Charity has giv'n. 
And bids the Christian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 

II. 

Now the third night of summer came, 
Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flamo. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake. 
The bittern scream d from rush and flag, 
The raven slumber'd on liis crag, 



543 



544 KOKEB\. [CANTO VI, 

Forth from his den the otter drew, — 

Grayling and trout their tyrant knew, 

As between roed and sedge he peers, 

With tierce round snout and sharpen'd ears, 

Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool, 

Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 

Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high, 

Sleep seaFd the tercelets wearied eye, 

That all the day had watch'd so well 

The cushat dart across the dell. 

In dubious beam reflected shone 

That lofty cliff of pale grey stone, 

Beside whose base the secret cave 

To rapine late a refuge gave. 

The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 

On Greta's breast dark shadows threw; 

Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 

With ev'ry change of fitful light ; 

As hope and fear alternate chase 

Our course through life's uncertain race. 



III. 

Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold. 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
And pauses oft, and cow'rs disinay'd, 
At ev'ry breath that stirs the shade, 
lie passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 
He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends. 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends ; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives, and is beheld no more; 
And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
'Jlie midnight wand'rer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-remember'd form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, 
Combine to tell a rueful tale, 



CANTO n.] aOKEBY. 

Of pow'rs misus'd, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse I 
'Tis Edmund's eye, at ev'ry sound 
That flings that guilty glance around ; 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste dindes 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 



His flint and steel have sparkl'd brigM, 

A lamp hath lent the cavern light 

Fearful and c[uick his eye surveys 

Each angle of the gloomy maze. 

Since last he left that stern abode, 

It seem'd as none its floor had trod ; 

Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil. 

The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 

Masks and disguises grim'd with mud. 

Arms broken and dehl'd with blood. 

And all the nameless tools that aid 

Night- felons in their lawless trade, 

Upon the gloomy walls were hung, 

Or lay iu nooks obscurely flung. 

Still on the sordid board appear 

The relics of the noontide cheer : 

Flagons and empty flasks were there. 

And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair; 

And all around the semblance show'd, 

As Avhen the final revel glow'd, 

When the red sun was setting fast, 

And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 

" To Rokeby treasure- vaults 1" they quaii'd; 

And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd, 

Pourd madd'ning from the rocky door, 

And parted — to return no more ! 

They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,— 

A bloody death, a burninf; tomb .' 

V. 

There his ovnx peasant dress he spies, 
Doff'd to assume that quaint disguise ; 



546 



1 



546 



[CANTO VL 



And shuddering thought upon his glee. 

When prauk'd in garb oi minstrelsy. 

" O, be the fatal art accurst," 

He cried, " that mov'd niy toily first : 

Till, brib'd by bandits' base applause, 

I burst through God's and iNature's laws ! 

Three summer days are scantiy past 

Since I have trod this cavern last, 

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to eir — 

But, O, as yet no murderer ! 

Ev'n now I list my comrades' cheer, 

That gen'ral laugh is in mine ear. 

Which rais'd my pulse, and steeFd my heart, 

As I rehears'd my treach'rous part — - 

And would that all since then could seem 

The phantom of a fever's dream ! 

But fatal Mem'ry notes too well 

The horrors of the dying yell, 

From my despairing mates that broke. 

When iiash'd the hre and roll d the smoke , 

When the avengers shouting came, 

And hemm'd us twixt the sword and flame ! 

My frautic flight,— the lifted brand,—. | 

That angel's interposing hand ! | 

If, for my life from slaughter freed, 
I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid" — he turu'd, nor spoke the rest. 



Due northward from the rugged hearth. 

With paces Ave he mete? the earth, 

Then toil'd with mattock to explore 

The entrails of the cavern floor. 

Nor paus'd till, deep beneath the ground, 

His search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp. 

His shoulder felt a giant grasp. 

He started, and look'd up aghast, 

Then shriek'd ! — 'Twas Bertram held him fast 

" Fear not !" he said ; but who could hear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear? 

I 

i 



CANTO VL] ROKEBY. 

*' Fear not ! — By heav'n he shakes as much 

As partridge in the falcon's clutch :" — 

He rais'd him, and unloos'd his hold. 

While from the op'ning casket roll'd 

A chain and reliquaire of gold. 

Bertram beheld it with surprise, 

Gaz'd on its fashion and device, 

Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 

Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood : 

For still the youth's half-lifted eye 

Quiver'd with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanc'd, as to explore. 

In meditated flight, the door. 

" Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free : 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 

I've sought for refuge-place in vain. 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 

What mak'st thou here? what means this toy.^ 

Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unbound your chain? 

I deem'd, long since on Baliol's tow'r. 

Your heaos were warp'd with sun and show'r. 

Tell me the whole — and, mark ! nought e'er 

Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." 

Gath'ring his courage to his aid. 

But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 



o47 



" Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 
Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought, 
And ev'd my comrade long askance, 
With fix'd and penetrating glance. 
' Guv Denzil art thou call'd?'- — ' The same.' 
' At Court who serv'd wUd Buckinghame ; 
Thence banish'd, won a keeper's place, 
So Villlers will'd, in Marwood-chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
Tliou raad'st thy wit thy wants supply. 
Then fought for Rokeby: — Have I giiess'd 
My pris'aer right ?^ — * At thy behest.' — 



548 llOKKBY. [CANIO VL 

He paus'd a while, and then went on 

With low and confidential tone ; — 

Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 

Close nestl'd in my couch of straw. — 

' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 

Have frequent need of what they hate ; 

Hence, in their favour oft we see 

Unscrupl'd, useful men like thee. 

Were I dispos'd to bid thee live, 

W^hat pledge of f:uth hast thou to give .?' 

VIII. 

" The ready Fiend, who never yet 

Hath faird to sharpen Denzil's wit, 

Prompted his lie — ' His only child 

Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smil'd, 

And turn'd to m.e — ■• Thou art his son .!*' 

I bow'd — our fetters were undone. 

And we were led to hear apart- 

A dreadful lesson of his art. 

Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 

Had fair Matilda's favour won ; 

And long since had their union been. 

But for her father's bigot spleen, 

Whose brute and blindfold party-rage 

Would, force per force, her hand engage 

To a base kern of Irish earth, 

Unknown his lineage and his birth, 

Save that a dying ruffian bore 

The infant brat to Rokeby door. 

Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 

Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 

But fair occasion he must find 

For such restraint well-meant and kind. 

The Knight being render'd to his charge 

But as a prisoner at large. 

IX, 
" He school'd us in a well-forg'd tale. 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale, 
To which was leagued each Cavalier 
That dwells u})on the Tyne and Wear •. 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 



CANTO VI.J ROKEBY. 

Such -was the charge, -which Denzil's zeal 

Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 

Proffer'd, as -witness, to malie good, 

Ev'n though the forfeit were their blood. 

I scrupled, until o'er aud o'er 

His pris'ners' safety Wycliffe s-wore ; 

And then — alas ; what needs there more ? 

I knew I should not live to say 

The proffer I refus'd that day ; 

Ashani'd to live, yet loath to die, 

I soil'd me with their infamy !" — 

" Poor youth," said Bertram, " -wav'ling still 

Unfit alike for good or ill ! 

But what fell next ?" — '• Soon as at large 

Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal chaxge, 

There never yet, on tragic stage, 

Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald's show'd ! With loud alarm 

He caU'd his garrison to arm ; 

From tow'r to tow'r, from post to post, 

He hurried as if all were lost ; 

Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 

The good old knight and all his train ; 

Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 

Within his limits, to appear 

To-morrow, at the hour of noon. 

In the high-church of Eglistone." — 



549 



*' Of Eglistone ! — Ev'n now I pass'd," 

Said Bertram, " as the night clos'd fast ; 

Torches and cressets gleam'd around, 

I heard the saw and hammer sound. 

And I could mark they toil'd to raise 

A scaffold, hung with sable baize, 

Which the grim headsman's scene displayed. 

Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 

Some evil deed will there be done, 

Unless Matilda Aved his son ; — 

She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guess'd 

That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 

This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 

But I may meet, and foil him still ^ 



550 llOKEBV. [CANTO VI 

How cam'st tliou to thy freedom?" — " There 

Lies mystery more dark and rare. 

In m^d^t of \V}-cliflVs well feign'd rage, 

A scroll was offer'd by a page, 

Who told, a mutiled horsemen late 

Had left it at the Castle gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek show'd changOj 

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turn'd to actual agony ; 

His hand like summer sapling shook. 

Terror and guilt were in his look. 

Denzil he judg'd, in time of need, 

Fit counsellor for evil deed; 

And thus apart his counsel broke 

While with a ghastly smile he spoke : — 

XI. 

" ' As in the pageants of the stage. 

The dead awake in this wild age, 

Mortham — whom all men deem'd decreed 

In his own deadly snare to bleed, 

Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. 

He train'd to aid in murd'ring me,— 

Mortham has 'scaped ! The coward shot 

The steed, but harm'd the rider nof" ^ 

Here, with an execration fell, 

Bertram leap'd up, and pac'd the cell : — 

" Thine own grey head, or bosom dark," 

He mutter'd, " may be surer mark !" 

Then sat, and sign'd to Ednmnd, pale 

With terror, to resume his tale. 

"■ Wycliffe went on : — ' Mark with what flights 

Of wilderd reverie he writes :-- 

THE LETTER. 

"• Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 

Once had he all that binds to life 

A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his o'wn — 

Thou gav'et the word, and they are flown. 



CANTO Vl] ROKEBY 561 

Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 
He yields his honours and his land. 
One boon premis'd ; — Restore his child I 
And, from his native land exil'd, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honours, or his name; 
Refuse him this, and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.' — 



" This billet -while the baron read. 
His falt'ring accents show'd his dread ; 
He press'd his forehead with his palm. 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
' Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 
"What wot I of his spouse or child? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
Unknown her lineage or her name ; 
Her, in some frantic fit, he slev/ ; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heav'n be my witness ! wist I where 
To find this youth, my kiDsman's heir, — 
Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy, 
And Mortham's lands and tow'rs resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's line.' — 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
'Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
He said, 'to ease his patron's heart! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 
Thy gen'rous wish is fully won, — 
Redi^ond O'Neale is Mortham's son.' — 



" Up starting with a frenzied look. 
His clenched hand the Baron shook : 
' Is Hell at work? or dost thou rave, 
Or dar'st thou palter with me, slave ! 
Perchance thou wotst not, Barnard's towers 
Have racks, of strange and gha?tly powers.* 



^52 ROKEBT. tcATrro VI. 

Denzil, ^vho -well his safety knew, 

Firmly rejoin'd ' I tell thee true. 

Thy racks could give thee but to know 

The proofs, which I, untortured show. 

It chanc'd upon a winter night, 

When early snow made Stanmore white. 

That very night, when first of all, 

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 

It was my goodly lot to gain 

A reliquary and a chain, 

Twisted and chas'd of massive gold. 

— Demand not how the prize I holdl 

It was not giv'n, nor lent, nor sold. — 

Gilt tablets to the chain were hung. 

With letters in the Irish tongue. 

I hid my spoil, for there was need 

That I should leave the land with speed; 

Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 

On mine own person gems so rare. 

Small heed I of the tablets took. 

But since have spelTd them by the book, 

W^hen some sojourn in Erin's land 

Of their wild speech had given command 

But daikling was the sense; the phrase 

And language those of other days, 

Involv'd of purpose, as to foil 

An interloper's prying toil. 

The words, but not the sense, I knew, 

Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 



" ' Three days since was that clue reveal'd 

In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd, 

And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 

Her uncle's history display'd ; 

And now I can interpret well 

Each syllable the tablets tell. 

Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 

Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 

But from her sire and countiy fled, 

In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 

O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 

Despatch'd his son to Gi'eta's shore, 



CANTO VI.] ROKEBY. 5SB 

Enjoining he should make him known 
(Until his farther will were shown) 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell, 
Lord AVycliffe knows, and none so "welL 

XV. 

" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair, 
Robb'd Mortham of his infant heir; 
He bred him in their nurture wild, 
And caird him murder'd Connal's chilcL 
Soon died the nurse ; the Clan believ'd 
What from their Chieftain they receiv'd. 
His purpose was, that ne'er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main; 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
Tlie woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles carae^ 
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native tow'rs, his fathers lands. 
Unable then, amid the strife, 
To guard young Redmond's rights or life, 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores, 
With goodly gifts and letters stor'd, 
With many a deep conjuring word. 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth, 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 
But deem'd his Chief's commands were laid 
On both, by both to be obey'd. 
How he was wounded by the way 
I need not, and I list not say.' — 

XVI. 

" ' A wond'rous tale ! and, grant it true, 
What,' Wj-cliife answer' d, 'might I doP 
Heav'n knows, as willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow. 
Would I my kinsman's manors fair, 
Restore to Mortham or his heir : 
2a 



554 ROKEBY, [CANTO VI 

But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And train'd iu Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart !' — They whisper'd long, 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong : — 
' My proofs ! I never will,' he said, 
' Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For I have mates at large, Avho know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Fi'ee me from peril and from band, 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Nor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly land.*-- 
• — ' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' we]] '. 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shalt thou have, and that good store. 
And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' 

SVII. 

" Mesh'd in the net himself had Irwin'd, 
What subterfuge could Denzil find? 
He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
That hidden here the tokens lie ; 
Conjur'd my swift return and aid, 
By all he scofTd and disobey'd, 
And look'd as if the noose were tied. 
And I the priest who left his side. 
This scroll for Mortham Wyclifte gave, 
Whom I must seek by Gretas wave: 
Or in the hut v.here chief he hides, 
Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 



CANTO VL] ROKEBY. 555 

(Thence chanc'd it, wand'ring in the glade, 

Tlut he descried our ambuscade). 

I was dismiss'd as evening fell, 

And reach'd but now this rocky cell.** — 

*' Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 

And tore it fiercely, shred by shred : — 

" All lies and villany ! to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

And train him on from day to day. 

Till he can take his life away. — 

And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 

Nor dare to answer, save the truth; 

If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 

rU tear the secret from thy heart f — 

xvni. 

" It needs not. I renotmce,** he salil. 

My tutor and his deadly trade. 

Fix'd was my purpose to declare 

To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 

To tell him in what risk he stands. 

And yiehl these tokens to his hands. 

Fix'd was my purpose to atone. 

Far as I may, the evil done ; 

And fix'd it rests — if I survive 

This night, and leave this cave alive." — 

" And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack, 

Ev'n till his joints and sinews crack ] 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb. 

What ruth can Denzil claim from him. 

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray. 

And damn'd to this unhallowd way? 

He school'd me, faith and vows were vain; 

Now let my master reap his gain." — 

" True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed 

There's retribution in the deed. 

But thou — thou art not for our course. 

Hast fear, hast ]nty, hast remorse ; 

And he, with us the gale who braves. 

Must heave such cargo to the waves. 

Or lag with overloaded prore, 

While barks unbm-den'd reach the shore." 



656 ROKEBT. [CANTO VI, 



He paus'd, and, stretching him at length, 
Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind, 
As half he sat, and half reclin'd, 
One ample hand his forehead press' d. 
And one was dropp'd across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
His lip of pride a while forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore; 
Th' unalter'd fierceness of his look 
A shade of darkened sadness took, — 
For dark and sad a presage press'd 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone, 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep, 
Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear. 
Its low imbroken depth to hear. 



" Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warp'd my patron's mind, 
'Twould wake the fountains of the eye 
In other men, but mine are dry. 
Moitham must never see the fool. 
That sold himself base Wycliffe's tool; 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain, 
Than to avenge suppos'd disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word. 
Till now, from Bertram never heard ; 
Say, too, that Mortham's Lord he prays 
To think but on their former days; 
On Quariana's beach and rock. 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock. 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — ■ 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 
More that may grace his comrade's bier. 
My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate : 



667 



OANTO VI.J ROKEBT. 

A priest had said, ' Return, repent T 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Finn as that flint I face mine end ; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 



"• The dawning of my youth, -with awe 
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine. 
When, challenging the Clans of Tyne 
To bring their best my brand to prove, 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove;* 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor to^vn, 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fir'd the air ! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward cliild with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run, 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his ray. 
No tv.-ilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red. 
He rushes to his burning bed, 

* This custom amon^ the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers is 
thus mentioned in the mteresting Lite of Bernard Gilpin. " One 
Sunday morning, coming- to a church in those parts, before the 
people were assembled, he observed a glove hanging up, and was 
informed by the sexton, that it was meant as a challenge to any- 
one who should take it down. Mr Gilpin ordered the sexton to 
reach it him ; but upon his utterly refusing to touch it, he took it 
down himself, and put it into his'breasU When the people were 
assembled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his 
sermon, took occasion to rebuke them sevf-reiy for these inhuman 
cbaUenges. • I hear,' said he, ' that one among you hath banged 
up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one 
who taketh it down: see, I have taken it down;' and, pulling out 
the glcve, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed them 
ho%v unsuitable such savage practices were to the profession of 
Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love as he thought 
would most affect them.'— Life of Bernard Gilpin. Lend. ifsS, 
8vo. p. 177. 



558 ROKEBY. lCANTO VI 

Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night. — ■ 



" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troops are laid, 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on, 
And I would rest me here alone." 
Despite his ill-dissembl'd fear, 
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear ; 
A tribute to the courage high. 
Which stoop'd not in extremity. 
But strove, irregularly great. 
To triumph o'er approaching fate! 
Bertram beheld the dew-drop start. 
It almost touch'd his iron heart : — 
"• I did not think there lived," he said, 
" One, who would tear for Bertram shed," 
He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 
" Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
But this with Risingham remains ; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take, 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 

XXIII. 

The night has yielded to the mom, 
And far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who, since the dawn of day, 
Had curs'd his messenger's delay, 
Impatient question'd now his train, 
" Was Denzil's son return'd again ?" 
It chanc'd there answer' d of the crew. 
A menial, who young Edmund knew; 
" No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 
A peasant boy from Winston glade, 



CANTO VL] ROKEBY. 

For song and minstrelsy renoWd, 

And knavish pranks, the hamlets round.'" — 

" Not Denzil's son ! — From Winston vale ! — 

Then it was false, that specious tale ; 

Or, ^yo^se — he hath despatched the youth 

To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 

Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late ; — 

This is the very turn of fate ! — 

The tale, or true or false, relies 

On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies ! — 

Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 

Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 

Allow him not a parting word ; 

Short be the shrift, and sure the cord ! 

Then let his gory head appal 

Marauders from the Castle-wall. 

Lead forth thy guard, that duty done. 

With best despatch to Eglistone — 

Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 

Attend me at the castle-gate." — 



*' Alas !" the old domestic said. 
And shook his venerable head, 
" Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 
May my young master brook the way ! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm. 
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 
That mars and lets his healing art." — 
" Tush, tell not me I — Romantic boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
Bid him for Eglistone be boune. 
And quick ! 1 hear the dull death-drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 
He paus'd with scornful smile, and then 
Resum'd his train of thought agen. 
" Now comes my fortune's crisis near I 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 
Nought ebe, can bend Matilda's pride, 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 



559 



1 



560 RuKKliY. [CANTO VJ, 

But when she sees the scaffold plac'd, 

With axe and block and headsman grac'cL 

And when she deems, that to deny 

Dooms Redmond and her sire to die, 

She must give way. — Then, were the line 

Of Rokeby once comhin'd with mine, 

I gain the weather-gage of fato ! 

If Mortham come, he comes too late. 

While I, thus allied and prepared, 

Bid him defiance to his beard. — 

— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 

To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 

Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 

His tale — and Fairfax loves him well ; — 

Else, wheiefore should I now delay 

To sweep this Redmond from my way ? 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield. — Without there ! Sound to horse.'* 



'Twas bustle in the court below, — 

" Mount, and march forward !" — Forth they go ; 

Steeds neigh and trample all around. 

Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound- — 

Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 

And Denzil tum'd his eyeballs dim, 

And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 

Follows the horsemen down the Tees ; 

And scarcely conscious what he hears, 

The trumpets tingle in his ears. 

O'er the long bridge they're sweeping noW 

The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 

But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er, 

Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ' 

One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 

To Oswald rung his dying knell, 

XXVI. 

O, for that pencil, erst profuse 

Of chivalry's emblazon'd hues, 

That trac'd of old, in Woodstock bower, 

The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 



561 



And bodied forth tha tourney high, 
Held for the hand of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult broad. 
That to the crowded abbey How'd, 
And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound, 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then might I sho\y each varying mien, 
Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 
Indilf'rence, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air, 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarm' d, and sad of cheer; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
Claim'd conquest now and mastery ; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrj-ing, as best I can, along, 
The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
Like trav'ller when approaching home, 
AVho sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his course delay, 
Or choose the fair, but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 
To bless the breeze that cools his brow. 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 



The rev'rend pile lay wild and wast©, 
Profan'd, dishonour'd, and defac'd. 
Tnrough storied lattices no more 
In soften'd light the sunbeams pour. 
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 
The Civil fuiy of the time 
Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 
For dark Fanaticism rent 
Altar, and screen, and ornament, 
2a2 



5G2 ROKKBY. [CANTO VI. 

And peasant hands the tombs overthrew 
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 
And now was seen, unwonted sight, 
In holy walls a scaffold diglit ! 
Where once the priest, of grace divine 
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign ; 
There stood the block display'd, and there 
The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
Resounded loud a doom of death. 
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard. 
And echoed thrice the herald's word, 
Dooming, for bi'each of martial laws, 
And treason to the Commons' cause. 
The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 
To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
The trumpets flourished high and shrill. 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 
And silent pray'rs to heav'n were cast. 
And stifling sobs were bursting fast, 
Till from the croAvd began to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 
And from the distant isles there came 
Deep-mutter'd threats, with Wycliffe's : 



But Oswald, guarded by his band. 

Powerful in evil, wav'd his hand. 

And bade Sedition's voice be dead. 

On peril of the murm'rer's head. 

Then first his glance sought Rokeby's Knight ! 

Who gaz'd on the tremendous sight. 

As calm as if he came a guest 

To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 

As calm as if that trumpet-call 

Were summons to the banner'd hall ; 

Firm in his loyalty he stood. 

And prompt to seal it with his blood. 

With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 

He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — 

And said, with low and falt'ring breath, 

" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 



CANTO VI.] ROKEBY. 563 

The Knight then tumM, and sternly smil'd ; 

" The maiden is mine only child. 

Yet shall my blessing leave her head. 

If with a traitor's son she wed." 

Then Redmond spoke : " Tlie life of one 

Might thy malignity atone, 

On me be flung a double guilt! 

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt T' 

Wyclifl'e had listen'd to his suit, 

But dread prevaii'd, and he was mute. 

XXIX. 

And no-w he pours his choice of fear 

In secret on Matilda's ear; 

" An union form'd with me and mine, 

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all this dread array, 

Like morning dream shall pass away ! 

Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 

I give the word — thou know'st the rest." 

Matilda, still and motionless, 

AVith terror heard the dread address, 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Then wrung her hands in agony, 

And round her cast bewilder'd eye. 

Now on the scaffold glanc'd, and now 

On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 

She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 

Scarce audible, — ■•' I make my choice ! 

Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 

He once was gen'rous !" — As she spoke, 

Dark Wycliife's joy in triumph broke : — 

" Wilfrid, Avhere loiter'd ye so late.^ 

Why upon Basil rest thy weight ?— 

Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand.'' — 

Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ; 

Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy?'' — 

" O hush, my sire ! To pray'r and tear 

Of rnine thou hast refus'd thine ear; 



561 ROKEBY. [CAMTO VI. 

But now the awful hour draws on, 
When truth must speak in loftier tone.*' 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's hand ; — " Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 

As blend with him this barb'rous scheme : 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain. 

Might well have sav'd this added pain. 

But now, bear Avitness, earth and heaven. 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given, 

So twisted with the strings of life. 

As this — to call Matilda Avife ! 

I bid it now for ever part. 

And with the effort bursts my heart." 

His feeble frame was worn so low. 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe, 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 

He kneerd — his lip her hand had press'd, — 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower sunk his head, — 

They raised him, — but the life was fled ! 

Then, first alarm'd, his sire and train 

Tried ev'ry aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear. 

Had left our mortal hemisphere. 

And sought in better world the meed, 

To blameless life by Heav'n decreed. 

XXXI. 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast. 
With Wilfrid all his projects past, 
All turn'd and centred on his son, 
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
" And I am childless now," he said : 
" Childless, through that relentless maid '. 
A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd, 
Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
Comes hated Mortham for his heir. 



CANTO VLJ ROKEBY. 663 

Eager to knit in happy band 

With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand. 

And shall their triumph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laid to work tlieir fall ? 

No ! — deeds, ^Yhich prudence might not dare. 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 

I'll change to real that feigned tear ! 

They all shall share destruction's shock ; — 

Ho ! lead the captives to the block!" — 

But ill his Provost could divine 

His feelings, and forbore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block !— or I, or they. 

Shall face the judgment-seat this day f 



The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
-Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very deaths-men paus'd to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath wak'd the dwellmg of the dead ! 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung, 
"When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty tioor was spurn'd, 
The vaults unwonted clang retum'd ! — 
One instant's glance around he threw 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determin'd was his look ! 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scatter'd backward as he came, 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
The first has reach'd the central nave, 
The second clear'd the chancel wide, 
The third — he was at "W'yclilfe's side. 
Full levell'd at the Baron s head, 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 



566 ROKEBY. [CANTO VI> 

And to his long account, and last. 
Without a groan dark Oswald past I 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightening, or a dream. 



While yet the smoke the deed conceals; 

Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 

But flounder'd on the pavement-floor 

The steed, and down the rider bore, 

And, bursting in the headlong sway, 

The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 

'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed, 

And with the rein to raise the steed, 

That from amazement's iron trance | 

All Wyclift'e's soldiers wak'd at once. | 

Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 

Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 

A score of pikes, with each a wound, 

Bore down and pinu'd him to the ground ; 

But still his struggling force he rears, 

'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ; 

Thrice from assailants shook him fi-ee. 

Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee, 

By tenfold odds oppressed at length, 

Despite his struggles and his strength, 

He took a hundred mortal wounds, 

As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 

And when he died, his parting groan 

Had more of laughter than of moan! 

— They gaz'd, as when a lion dies. 

And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 

But bend their weapons on the slain. 

Lest the grim king should rouse again! 

Then blow and insult some renew'd. 

And from the trunk, the head had hew'd, 

But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 

A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 

"• Fell as he was in act and mind, 

He left no bolder heart behind : 

Then give him, for a soldier meet, 

A soldier's cloak for windingsheet." 



CANTO VI.l 



No more of death and dying pang, 
No more of trump and bugle clang, 
Though through the sounding woods there 
Banner and bugle, trump and dnim, 
Arm'd with such pow'rs as well had freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost need, 
And back'd with such a band of horse, 
As might less ample pow'rs enforce ; 
PossessM of ev'ry proof and sign 
That gave an heir to iNIortham's line. 
And yielded to a father's arms 
An image of his Edith's charms, — 
Mortham is come, to hear and see 
Of this strange morn the history. 
What saw he ? — not the church's floor, 
Cumber d with dead and stain'd with gore, 
What heard he ? not the clam'rous crowd. 
That shout their gratulations loud: 
Redmond he saw and heard alone, 
Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, " My son, my son' 



This chanc'd upon a summer mom. 

When yellow wav'd the heavy com : 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Call'd forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the silvan road 

From Eglistone to Mortham show'd, 

A while the hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

And maids their sickles Hing aside. 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride. 

And childhood's wond'ring group draws neai'. 

And from the gleaner's hand the ear 

Drops, while she folds them for a pray''r 

And blessing on the lovely pair. 

'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave 5 



567 



568 ROKEBT. [CANTO VI 

And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Virtue paid her debt. 
And, for their troubles, bade them prove 
A lengthen'd life of peace and love. 



Time and Tide had thus their sway. 
Yielding, like an April day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow. 
Years of joy for hovirs of sorro-w ! 



BALLADS. 
LYRICAL PIECES, 



AND 

SONGS. 



OLENFINLAS, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. 

[The tradition, upon which the following stanzas are fbunded, 
runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in 
a solitary bothy (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting,) and 
making merry over their venison and whisky, one of ihem ex- 
pressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses, to complete their party. 
The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young wo- 
men, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One 
of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached herself 
particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, 
suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or 
Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at 
length came, and the temptress vanished. Seaixhing in the forest, 
he found the bones of his unfortunate friend; who had been torn 
to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. 
The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Pf^omen.} 



" For them the viewless forms of air obe^, 
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; 

They know what spiiit brews the stormfnl day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare, 

To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.' 



" O HONE a rie' ! O hone a rie' !* 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 
And fairn Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more I 

O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
The chief that never fear'd a foe, 

How matchless was thy broad cIa}Tnore, 
How deadly thine unerring how ! 

"Well can the Saxon widows tell, 

How, on the Teith's resounding shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 
• O fume a rie' signifies—" Alas for the prince, or chie£'' 



7"2 LORD RONALD'S 

But o'er his hills, on festal day, 

How blaz'd Lord Ronald's, Beltane tree; 

While youths and maids the light strathspey 
So nimbly dancM, with Highland glee. 

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell, 
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 
O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! 

From distant isles a chieftain came, 
The joys of Ronald's hall to find, 

And chase with him the dark brown gam© 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 

'Twas Moy ; whom, in Columba's isle, 
The seer's prophetic spirit found. 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 

He wak'd his harp's harmonious sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 
^Vhich wand' ring spirits shrink to hear; 

And many a lay of potent tone, 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 
High converse with the dead they hold, 

And oft espy the fated shroud, 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 

O so it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen. 

No vassals wait, their sports to aid, 

To watch their safety, deck their board : 
Their simple dress, the Highland plaid 

Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. 
Three summer days, through brake and dell, 

Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 
And still, when dewy evening fell, 

The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 
The solitary cabin stood, 



COIIONACH, 573 

Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Which murmurs through that lonely ■wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 
When three successive days had flown; 

And summer mist in dews- balm 

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 

The moon, half-hid in silv'r)- flakes, 

Afar her dubious radiance shed, 
Quiv'ring on Katrine's distant lakes. 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise. 

Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; 
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 

As many a pledge he quafi"s to Moy. 

— " What la<;k we here to cro^\'n our bliss, 
TNTiile thus the pulse of joy beats high? 

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, 
Her panting breath, and melting eye? 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades. 

This morning left their father's pile 
The fairest of our mountain maids. 

The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, 
And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh : 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

" But thou m.ay'st teach that guardian fair, 

While far with Mary I am flo^vn, 
Of other hearts to cease her care. 

And find it hard to guard her own. 

" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me. 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. 

" Or, if she choose a melting tale. 

All underneath the greenwood bough, 

Will good St Orau's rale prevail, 
Stem huntsman of the rigid brow?" 



574 



LORD RONALD S 



— " Since Enrick's figlit, since Morna's death, 

No more on me shall rapture rise, 
Responsive to the panting breath, 

Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, 'when o'er the heath of -woe, 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

I bade my harp's wild wailings flow, 
On me the seer's sad spirit came. 

" The last dread curse of angry heav'n, 
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, 

To dash each glimpse of joy, was giv'n — 
The gift, the future ill to know. 

" The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn. 

So gaily part from Oban's bay. 
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

" Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son, 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's pow'r. 

As marching 'gainst the Lord of DoAvne, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

" Thou only saw'st their tartans* wave. 
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound. 

Heard' st but the pibroch, an sw' ring brave 
To many a target clanking round. 

*' I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 

I saw the woimd his bosom bore, 
When on the serried Saxon spears 

He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 

" And thou, who bidst me think of bliss, 
And bidst my heart awake to glee, 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss, — 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 

" I see the death-damps chill thy brow; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; 
The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and now— ! 

No more is giv'n to gifted eye !" 

* Tarians^-Tixe full Highland dress, made of the chequered stuff 
so termed. 



I 



675 



*' Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient heamo, 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour? 

" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, 
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 

" E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." — ■ 

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell. 
But cali'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour return' d each hound ; 

In rush'd the rousers of the- deer : 
They howl'd in melancholy sound. 

Then closely couch beside the Seer. 

No Ronald yet ; though midnight came, 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, 

As, bending o'er the dying flame, 

He fed the watch-fire's quiv'ring gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 

And sudden cease their moaning howl; 

Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shiv'ring limbs and stilled growL 

Untouch'd, the harp began to ring. 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive ev'ry string. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 

And, by the watch-fire's glimm'ring light, 
Close by the Minstrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beauty bright, 
AU dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chill'd v.'as her cheek, her bosom bare. 
As, bending o'er the dying gleam. 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 

With maiden blush she softly said, 
O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. 



576 LORD konald's 

In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 

" With her a chief in Highland pride 
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 

The mountain dirk adorns his side, 
Far on the wind his tartans How ?" 

" And who art thou? and who are theyp"^ 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

" And why, beneath the moon's pale ray 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?" 

" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide. 
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle 

Our father's tow'rs o'erhang her side, 
The castle of the bold Glengj^le. 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 

Our woodland course this morn we bore, 

And haply met, while wand'ring here, 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair. 
Whom, loit'ring in the woods, I lost ; 

Alone I dare not venture there. 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost.' 

" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; 

Then, first, my own sad vow to keep, 
Here will I pour my midnight pray'r. 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep." 

" O first, for pity's gentle sake, 

Guide a lone wand'rer on her way ! 

For I must cross the haunted brake. 
And reach my father's tow'rs ere day." 

" First, three times tell each Ave bead, 

And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 
Then kiss with me the holy reed : 

So shall we safely wind our way." 

" O shame to knighthood, strange and foull 
Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 

And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 
Which best befits tliy sullen vow. 



67; 



" Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 

"Wheu gaily rung thy raptur'd I^to, 
To wanlon Morua's melting eye." 

Wild star'd the Miustrel's eyes of flame, 
And high his sable locks arose, 

And quick his colour went and came, 
As fear and rage alternate rose. 

" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 
I lay, to her and love resign'd. 

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, 
Or saii'd ye on the midnight wind! 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine.'* 

He mutter'd thrice St Oran'a rh)'me. 
And thrice St Fillan's pow'rful prayer ; 

Then tura'd him to the eastern clime, 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And. bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind; 

And loud, and high, and strange, they rung. 
As many a magic change they find. 

lall wax'd the Spirit's alt'ring form, 
Till to the roof her stature grew; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
With one wild yell, away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 
The slender hut in fragments flew ; 

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 
Was wav'd by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale. 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 

High o'er the Minstrels head they sail, 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood. 
As ceas'd the more than mortal yell ; 
2b 



578 EVE OF SAINT JOUN. 

And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next, dropp'd from high a mangled ann ; 
The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade : 

And last, the life-blood streaming -warm, 
Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field, 

Streamed the proud crest of high Benmore : 

That arm the broad claymore could wield, 
Which dy'd the Teith with Saxon gore. 

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' drearj' glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen 1 

E'en the tir'd pilgrim's burning Jeet 

At noon shall shun that sheit'ring den. 
Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 

The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 
And we — behind the chieftain's shield, 

No more shall we in safety dwell ; 
None leads the people to the field — 

And we the loud lament must swelL 

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er. 
And fall'n Glenaiiney's stateliest free; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more 



THE 

EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurr'd his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky "way 

That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 
His banner broad to rear ; 



3VE OF SAINT JOHN. 679 

Ho went not 'gainst the Englisli yew, 
To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack* was brac'd, and Hs helmet 
was lac'd, 

And his vaunt-brace of pro^ 3 wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a goou steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound Y\-eight and more. 

The Baron retum'd in three days' space, 

And his looks were sad and sour; 
And weary was his courser's pace, 

As he reach'd his rocky tower. 
He came not from where Ancram Moor 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 

'Gainst keen lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd. 

His acton pierc'd and tore ; 
His axe and his dagger with blood embru'd, 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 

He held him close and still ; 
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 

His name was English Will. 

*' Come thou hither, my little foot-page ; 

Come hither to my knee ; 
Thou art young, and tender of age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

" Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, 

And look thou tell me true ! 
Since I from Smavlho'me tow'r have been, 

What did thy lady do .»" 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
That bui-ns on the wild Watchfold ; 

For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
Of the English foemen told. 

" The bittern clamour'd from the moss, 
The wind blew loud and shrill ; 

• The plate-jack is coat armour; the vaant-braoe> or •warn- brace, 
ermoar tor the body ; the sperthe, a battie^OjU;. 



680 EVE OF SAIOT jonw. 

Yet the craggy pathway sho did cross, 
To the eiry beacon hill. 

" I -watch'd her steps, and silent came 

"Where she sat her on a stone ; 
No watchman stood by the dreary flame; 

It burned all alone. 

" The second night I kept her in sight, 

Till to the fire she came, 
And, by Maiy's might ! an armed Knight 

Stood by the lonely flame, 

" And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my lady there ; 
But the rain fell fast, and loud hlew the blast. 

And I heard not what they were. 

" The third night there the sky was fair. 

And the mountain blast was still, 
As again I watch'd the secret pair. 

On the lonesome beacon hill. 

" And I heard her name in the midnight hour, 

And name this holy eve ; 
And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower; 

Ask no bold Baron's leave. 

*' "■ He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; 

His lady is all alone; 
The door she'll undo to her knight so true, 

On the eve of good St John.* 

" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of Saint John I must wander alone : 

In thy bower I may not be.' 

'• ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! 

Thou should'st not say me nay; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 

*' ' And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder 
shall not sound. 
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; 



EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 681 , 

So, by the black rood-stone,* and by holy St John, j 

I conjure thee, my love, tx) be there !' | 

" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush 
beneath my foot. 
And the warder his bugle should not blow. 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 
east. 
And my foot-step he would know.' 

" ' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east ! 

For to Dr}'burgh the way he has ta'en ; 
And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 

For the soul of a knight that is slaj-ne.' 

" He tum'd him around, and grimly he froAvn'd ; 
Then he laugh'd right scomfuUy — 
He who says the mass-rite for the soiil of that 

knight, 
May as well say mass for me. 

" * At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits 
have pow'r. 

In thy chamber will I be.' — 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone. 

And no more did I see." — 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow. 

From the dark to the blood- red high ; 
" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast 
seen. 

For, by Mary, he shall die !" 

" His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red 
Ught: 

His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 
On his shield was a bound, in a silver leash bound. 

And his crest was a branch of the yew." 

" Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot- page, 

Loud dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. 

All under the Eildon*tree."+ 

* The black-rood of Melrose was a crr.ciftx of black marble, and 
of siiperinr sanctitv. 

+ Kiidnn-tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the Ehjnmer 
ottered his prophecies. 



582 EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 

" Yet hear but my word, my noWe lord ! 

For 1 heard her name his name ; 
And that lady bright, she called the knight, 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame." 

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, 

From high blood-red to pale — 
" The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is 
stitf and stark— 

So I may not trust thy tale. 

" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 

And Eildon slopes to the plain. 
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 

That gay gallant was slain. 

"The varj-in^ light deceived thy sight. 
And the wild winds drowned the name ; 

For the Drvburgh bells ring, and the white monks 
do sing. 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame 1" 

He passed the court-gate, and he op'd the tow'i' 
grate. 
And he mounted the narrow stair 
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on 
her wait, 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Look'd over hill and dale ; 
Over Tweed s fair flood, and Mertoun's \!'Ood, 

And all down Teviotdale. 

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright !" 

" Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight? 

What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" 

" The Ancram Moor is red with gore. 

For many a southern fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore 

To watch our beacons well." 

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said; 
Nor added the Baron a word : 



EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 683 

Then she stepped doTvn the stair to her chamber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd 
and turn'd. 

And oft to himself he said — 
" The worms around him creep, and his bloody 
grave is deep .... 

It cannot give up the dead !" 
It was near the ringing of matin-hell, 

The night was well nigh done, 
When a heas-y- sleep on that Baron fell, 

On the eve of good St John. 

The lady look'd through the chamber fair. 

By the light of a dying ilame ; 
And she was aware of a knight stood there — 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

" Alas I away, away !" she ciied, 

" For the holy Virgin's sake !" 
" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 

But, lady, he will not awake. 

*' By Eildon-tree, for long nights three. 

In bloody grave have I lain ; 
The mass and the death-pray'r are said for me. 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 

" By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, 

Most foully slain I fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height. 

For a space is doom'd to dwell. 

" At our trysting-place,* for a certam space 

I must wander to and fro ; 
But I had not had pow'r to come to thy bow'r, 

Had'st thou not conjur'd me so." 

Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 

" How, Richard, hast thou sped ." 
And art thou sav'd, or art thou lost?" 

The Vision shook his head ! 

"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life 
So bid thy lord believe : 

* TrysUng-place—Plnce of rendezTous. 



bS-ir CADXOW CASTLE. 

That lawless lovo is giiilt above, 

This awful sign receive." 
He laid his left imlm on an oaken beam; 

His right upon her hand : 
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk. 

For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. 

The sable score, of fingers four, 
Remains on that board impressed; 

And for evermore that lady wore 
A covering on her wrist. 

There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower^ 

Ne'er looks upon the sun : 
There is a Monk in JNlelrose tower. 

He speaketh word to none. 

That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 
That Monk, who speaks to none — 

That Nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay. 
That Monk the bold Baron. 



CADYOW CASTLE. 

ADDRESSED TO 
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 

[In detailing the death of the regent Murrajr, which is made «r<» 
subject of the Totlowing ballad, it would be injustice to iny reauer 
to use othtr words than those of 0r Kobeitson, whose account of 
that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting. 

" Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the pi.", son who committed 
this barbarous action. He had been con<lomned to death soon 
after the battle of Langside, as we liave already related, and owed 
his life to the regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been 
bestowed upon one of the regent's favouiites, who seized his house, 
and turned out his wife naked, in acold night, mto the open fields, 
where, before next morning, she became furiously mad. This in- 
jury made a deeper impres.sion on him than the benefit he had re- 
ceived, and from that moment he vowed lo be revenged of the re- 
gent. Party rape strenffihened and inflamed his private resent- 
ment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltoiis, appUuded the enterprise. 
The maxims of that age justified the most desperate coarse he 
could take to obtain vengeance. He followed tlie regent for some 
time, and watched for an opportiniity to strike the blow. He ro. 
solved, at last, to wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlitb{i^ir« 



CADYOW CASTLE. 5S5 

through Tvhich he was to pass, in his way from Stirlinc; to KJIn- 
burgli. He took Wis >lanil in a woodoii jrallery, «liicli had a win- 
dow towar.ls the street ; spread a feathi'r-bed on tr>e fluor, to hin 
der the niise ol' his feet from beiii'; heird ; hun^c up a black clotJ 
behind him, iliat Ins siiadou- might imt bo observed trom without ; 
and, aft»r all this rreparation, c^ilimy expected the re-^enfs ap- 
proach, who had lodged, during the ni^bl, in a lion^e not far dis- 
tant. Some in asun^ i. inlornianon ol llie diuu-cr, which threaten- 
ed him, iiad beiu ccnveved to ilie ngent, an I he paid ao muih re- 
gird to it, that be resolved to return by the same gate tliiougU 
which iie had eniered, and t» letch a compass round the town. 
But, as the crowd about the sate was gieat, and he himself iinac- 
qiiainteJ with fear, be proceeded directly along the street ; and the 
throng of people olili^'ing him to mo»e very slowly, gave the 
assassin time to take" so true an aim, that he shot him, with a 
single bullet, through th- lower part of hu belly, and kiU.-d the 
horse of a genileman, who rode on his other side. His followers 
Instantly emleavoured to break into the house, whence the blow- 
had lome; but they found the dour strongly barricaded, an I, be- 
fore it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, 
which stood ready for him at a b ick pa-.sagf, and Avas got far be- 
yond their reach. The regent died the same night of his wound." — 
Bistoty of Scuttanii, book v.] 

When princely Hamilton's abode 

EnnoblM Cadyow's Gothic tow'rs, 
The song went round, the goblet flow'd. 

And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 

So sweetly rung each vaultetl wall, 
And echo'd light the dancer's bound, 

As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 

But Cadyow's tow'rs, in ruins laid, 

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er. 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
And tune my harp, of Border frame. 

On the wild banks of Evandale, 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride. 
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, 

To draw oblivion's pail aside. 

And mark the long forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command. 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns — the prese-it iiiej. — ■ 
2b 



580 CAJnOW CASTLE. 

AVhere witli tiie rock's wood-cover'd side 
Were blended late the ruins green. 

Rise turrets in fantastic pride. 

And feudal banners Haunt between : 

Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe, 

The ashler buttress braves its force, 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream. 

And on the wave the warder s fire 
Is chequering the moon-light beam. 

Fades slow tlieir light ; the east is grey ; 

The weary warder leaves his tow r; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupl'd stag-hounds bay, 

And merry hunters quit the bow'r. 

The draw-bridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chaiC; 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial route 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the Chief rode on : 
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound, 
The startling red-deer scuds the plain ; 

For, the hoarse bugle's warrior sound 
Has rous'd their mountain haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 

Wliat sullen roar comes down the gale, 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chace, 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

The Mountaiii Bull comes thund'ring on. 

Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band. 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 



CADTOW CASTLE. 687 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow, 

Aim'd wall, the chieftain's lance has flown; 

Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 

Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse !* 
'Tis noon — against the knotted oak 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan. 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown. 

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man, 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 

'■ Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 
Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunter's fare ?" 

Stern Claud replied, with dark'ning face, 
(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he) 

" At merry feast, or buxom chace. 
No more the warrrior shalt thou see. 

" Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee 
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 

'iVhen to his hearths, in social glee, 

The war-worn soldier tum'd him home. 

" There, wan from her maternal throes. 

His Marg'ret, beautiful and mild, 
Sate in her bow'r, a pallid rose, 

And peaceful nurs'd her new-born child. 

" O change accurs'd ! past are those days ; 

False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, 
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 

A>ccnds destruction's volum'd flame. 

"What sheeted phantom wanders wnld. 

Where monntain Eske through woodland flows, 

Her arms ei !d a shadowy child — 
Oh, is i*' : ^, the pallid rose ? 
* Pryse-' ' 3 note blown at the death of the game. 



588 CADYOW CASTLE. 

*' The wilder'd trav'ller sees lier glide. 
And hears her feeble voice with awe — 

* Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride ! 
And woe for iujur'd Bothwellhaugh !' " 

He ceas'd — and cries of i-age and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band, 

And half arose the kindling Chief, 
And half unsheath'd his Arran brand. 

But who, o'er hush, o'er stream, and rock, 
Rides headlong, with resistless speed. 

Whose bloody poniard's friintic stroke 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; 

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glai-e. 
As one, some vision'd sight that saw,. 

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair? — 
— 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh ! 

From gory selle,* and reeling steed, 

Sprung the fierce horseman with a hound. 

And, reeking from the recent deed, 
He dash'd his carbine on the ground. 

Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear, 
In good green- wood, the bugle blown; 

But sweeter to Revenge's ear. 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 

" Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 
At dawning morn, o'er dale and down. 

But prouder base-born Murray rode 

Through old Linlithgow's crowded town 

" From the wild Border's humbled side. 
In haughty triumph, marched he, 

While Knox relax'd his bigot pride, 
And smil'd, the trait'rous pomp to see. 

" But, can stern Pow'r, with all liis vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. 

The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 
Or change the purpose of Despair ? 



CADTOW CASTLE. 

*' With hackbut bent,* my secret stand 
Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. 

And mark'd, where, mingling in his band, 
Troop'd Scottisli pikes and English bows. 

" Dark iMorton, girt with many a spear, 
Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 

And clasii'd their broad-swords in the rear. 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. 

" Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, 
Obsequious at their Regent's rein, 

And haggard Lindesay's iron eye. 
That saw fair jNlary weep in vain. 

" Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, 
Proud Murray's plumage floated high ; 

Scarce could his trampling charger move. 
So close the minions crowded nigh. 

" From the rais'd visor's shade, his eye. 
Dark-rolling, glanc'd the ranks along. 

And his steel ti-uncheon, wav'd on high, 
Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. 

" But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 
A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 

Some fiend was whisp'ring in his breast, 
' Beware of injur'd Bothwellhaugh !' 

"The death-shot parts— the charger springs- - 
Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! — 

And Murrav's plumy helmet rings — 
■ — Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

""WTiat joy the raptur'd youth can feel. 

To hear" her love the lov'd one tell, 
Or he, who broaches on his steel 

The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! 
'• But dearer to my injur'd eye, 

To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 
And mine was ten times trebled joy 

To hear him groan his felon soul. 
"^Iv Marg'ret's spectre glided near; 

With pride her bleeding victim sair ; 

* Uu',}\ bvf it-r.r— Gun-cocked. 



590 THE GREY BROXUKtt^. 

And sliriek'd in his death-deifen'd ear, 
' Remember injur'd Bothwelilmugh T 

*' Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy banner'd tree ! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — 

Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free." 

Vaults ev'ry warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim— 
" Murray is falFn, and Scotland freed ! 

Couch, Arran 1 couch thy spear of flame T 

But, see ! the Minstrel vision fails — 

The glimm'ring spears are seen no more ; 

The shouts of w^ar die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high, 

The blackbird whistles down the vale, 
And sunk in ivied rains lie 

The banner'd tow'rs of Evandale. 
For chiefs, intent on bloody deed, 

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain, 
Lo ! high-born Beauty rales the steed. 

Or graceful guides the silken rein. 
And long may Peace and Pleasure own 

The maids, who list the Minstrel's tale; 
Nor e'er a ruder g"aest be known 

On the fail' banks of Evandale, 



THE GREY BROTHER, 

A FRAGMENT. 

[The tradition, upon which this Tragment is founded, regards a 
bouse, upon the birony of Gihiiertun, near Laswade, in Mid 
Lothian. This building, now called Gilmeiton-Grange, was for- 
merly named Burndale, from the following: tragic adventure. The 
barony of Gilmerton belon«red, of yore, to a gentleman, named 
Heron, who hail one beautiful daughter. This young lady waa 
seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly endowed abbey, upon 
the banks of the South Ksk, now a scat of the marquis of I,..thi.iiu 
Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, ami learned, 
also, that the lovers carried" on their giiiity iuteriourse by the 



THE QKKX BUOTHER. 591 

contrivance of the ladv's nurse, who lived at this house, of Gilmer- 
ton-Grange, or Burnilale. i'e formed a resolution of bln'vlv ven- 
geance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical charac- 
ter, or by the stronger claims of natur.il affection. Choosing, 
therefore,' a dark and windy niglit, when the objects of his ven- 
geance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set tire to a stack 
of dried thorns, an 1 other coinbustil)les, which be had caused to 
be jiiled against llie hoiiw, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes 
the dwelliiig, with all its inmates. 

The scene, with which the ballad opens, was sngeested by the 
following curious papsaire, extracted from the lite of Aiexauder 
Peden, one ot the v.-andoriuic and persecuteil teachers of tlie sect 
of Cameronians, during the reign of (;;harles II., and his successor, 
James. " About the s.une time he (Peden) came to Andrew Nur- 
mand's house, in the parish of Alio way, in the shire of Ayr, being 
to preach at uiglit in his barn. After became in, he halted a little, 
leaning upon a clidr-liaok, with his face covered; when he lifted 
tip his head, he said, • There are in this house that I have not one 
word of salvation imto ;' tie halted a l-.ttle again saying, 'This is 
stiange, tliat the devil wi.l not go out, that we may begin our 
work!' Tl-.en there was a woman went out, ill looked upon al- 
ino.-.t a'l her life, and to her dying hour, f'lr a witeli, with many 
presumptions of the same. Ii escaped me, in the former passages, 
that Jolm Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) told me, that 
when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family- worship, 
and giving some notes upon the scripture, when a very ill-looking 
man came, and s.ite down wiLhin the dour, at the back of the hal- 
/rtn (partition of the cottau'e:) immediately he halted, and said, 
'There is. some uuhajipy body just now coi'ne into this house. I 
charge hici to ^o out, and not stop my mouth I' The person went 
out, and he irunUed (went on), yet he saw him neither come in nor 
go out." — TIte Life and Prophecies of Mr jJlexander Peden, late 
Minuter of the Gospel at New Glcnluce, in Galloway, part ii. 
sec 2(3.J 



The Pope he was saying the high, high mass, 

All on saint Peter's day. 
With the pow'r to him giv'n, by the saints in heav'iij 

To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was sapng the blessed mass, 

And the people kneel'd around ; 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass, 

As he kiss'd the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng, 

"Was still, both limb and tongue, 
While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof^ 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear, 

And faulter'd in the sound — 
And, when he would the chalice reax, 

He dropp'd it on the ground. 



592 THE GREY BROTHER. 

*' The breatli of one, of evil deed, 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has lio portion in our creed, 

Ho part in what I say. 

" A being, whom no blessed word 

To ghostly peace can bring ; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhon''d, 

Recoils each holy thing. 

" Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! 

My adjuration fear ! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice. 

Nor longer tarry here 1" 

Amid them all a Pilgrim kneel' d, 

In gown of sackcloth gray : 
Far journeying from his native field. 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear, 

I ween, he had not spoke, 
And, save with bread and water clear, 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock, 

Seem'd none more bent to pray, 
But, when the Holy Father spoke, 

He rose, and went his way. 

Again unto his native land. 

His weaiy course he drew, 
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat. 

Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 
Through woods more fair no stream more BWeet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 

And Lords to meet the Pilgrim came, 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 

Was none more fam'd than he. 

And boldly for his country Etill, 
In battle he had stood. 



TUK GHKY BUOTUER. 593 

Aye, e'en when, on the banks of Till, 
Her noblest pour'd their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet 1 

By Eske's fair streams that run. 
O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep. 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove. 

And yield the muse the day ; 
There Beauty, led by timid Love, 

IMay shun the tell-tale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free, 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade. 

And haunted ^\'oodhouaeiee. 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove. 

And Roslin's rocky glen, 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, 

And classic Hawthorndeu? 

Yet never a path, from day to day. 

The Pilgrim's footsteps range, 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burndale's ruined Grange. 

A woeful place was that, I ween. 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall, 

And the roof was scath'd with fire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 

AVhile, on Carnethy's head. 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streak 'd the grey with red ; 

And the convent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbottle's oaks among, 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Lady's evening song : 
The heavy knell, the choir's faint swdl. 

Came slowly down the wind. 
And on the Pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As his wonted path he did find. 



594 THE GREY BROTHER, 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was. 

Nor ever rais'd his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

AV^hich did all in ruins lie. 

He gaz'd on the walls, so scath'd -with fire. 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Grrey Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

" Now, Christ thee save !" said the Grey Brother 

"• Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be ;" 
But in sore ainaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" O come ye from east, or come ye from west. 

Or bring reliques from over the sea. 
Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the divine, 

Or Saint John of Beverley?" 

"I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine, 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, 

Which for ever will cling to me." 
" Now, woeful Pilgrim, say not so I 

But kneel thee down by me. 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin. 

That absolved thou may'st be." 

*' And who art thou, thou Grey Brother, 

That I should shrive to thee, 
When he, to whom are giv'n the keys of earth and 
heav'n. 

Has no pow'r to pardon me ?" 

"01 am sent from a distant clime, 

Five thousand miles away. 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime. 

Done here 'twixt night and day." 

The Pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand. 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Grey Brother laye. 



THOUAS IHS SHTMBIL 595 

THOMAS THE RHYMER. 

IN THREE PARTS. 



[Few personages are 80 reno\Tned in tradition as Thomas of 
Erceldoime, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. It is 
agreed, on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birth 
place, of this ancient bard, was Erceldoune, a village sitnate npon 
the Leader, two miles above itsjunctinu wilh the Tweed. Tiie 
rnius of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. 
The nnitonn tradition bears, that his sirname was Lermont, or 
Learmont ; and that the appellation of The Wiymer was conferred 
on him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, 
nevertheless, some doubt upon this subject. 

We are better able to ascertain the periol, at which Thomas of 
Erceldoune lived ; bein? the latter end of the thirteenth centni y. 
It cannot be doubled, that Thomas of Erceldoune was a remarkable 
and important person in his own time, since very shortly after his 
death, we find him celebrated as a prophet, andeis apoet. Whether 
he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, 
or w^hecher it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credu- 
lity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. The popul ir tale 
bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy 
Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, which made him 
afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence he was per- 
mitted to return t<i the earth, to enlul'hteii and astonish his coun- 
trymen, b\ his prophetic powers; stid, however, remaining bound 
to return to his royal mistress, when she shonl 1 intimate her 
pleasure. Accordingly, while Thomas was maki.'g merry with 
his friends, in the tower of Erceldoune, a per-^on came running m, 
and told, with marks of fear and a.stonishment, that a hart and 
hind had left the neighbouring forest, aiid were composedly and 
slowly parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly 
arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to 
the forest, whence he was never seen to return. 

The following ballad, is given from a copy, obtained fi-om a lady, 
resiiliiig not far from Erceldoune, corrected and enlarired by one in 
Mrs Brown's MSS. To this old tale the author has ventured to 
add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of Cento, from the printed 
prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Khymer; and a Third Part, 
entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his having returned 
with the hart and hind, to the Laud of Faerie.] 

PART FIRST. 

ANCIENT- 

True Thomas lay on Hutitlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wf his e'e ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright. 

Come riding do^vn by the Eildon Tree, 

Her shirt was o' the grass-^reen silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 



596 THOMAS iHi: uhymeR. 

At Ilka tett of her horse's mane, 
Hang tifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas, he pull'd aif his cap. 
And louted loY/ do-wn to his knee, — 

" All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven 1 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." 

" O no, O no, Thomas," she said ; 

"That name does not belang to me; 
I am hut the queen of fair Eltland, 

That am hither come to visit thee, 

" Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 

" Harp and carp along \vith me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 

Sure of your bodie I will be." 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
That weird* shall never danton me." 

Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said; 

"• True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Through weal or woe as may chance to be.'' 
She mounted on her milk-white steed; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle I'ung, 

The steed iiew swifter than the wind. 

O they rade on, and farther on ; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
Until they reach'd a desart wide. 

And living land was left behind. 

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee 

Abide, and rest a little space, 

And I will shew you ferlies three. 

" O see ye not yon narrow road. 

So thick beset with thorns and briers ^ — 

That is the path of righteousness. 

Though after it but few enquires. 
» That weird, <§ c— That destiny shall never frighten me. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 597 

" And see not ye tliat braid, braid road. 

That lies across that lily leveu? — 
That is the jiatli of wickedness, 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

"■'■ And see not ye that bonny road. 
That winds about the fernio brae? — 

That is the road to fair Kltiand, 

Where thou and 1 this night maun gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see 
For, if you speak word in Eltiyn land, 

Ye'Il ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

they rade on, and farther on. 

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, 
And they saw neither sun nor moon. 
But they heard the roaring of tlie sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae starn 
light. 

And they waded through red blude to the knee , 
For a' the blude, that's shed on earth, 

Bins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — 

" Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 

It will give thee the tongue that can never lie.'" 

" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; 
'* A gudely gift ye wad gie to me 1 

1 neither dought to buy nor sell, 

At fair or tryst, where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 

Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." 
" Now hold th}' peace !" the ladye said^ 

" For, as I say, so must it be." 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And, till seven years were gane and past 
Tiue Thomas on earth was never seen. 



^ 



598 THOMAS THE PwHYMER, 

PART SECOND. 

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PKOPilECIES. 

rCor'T)atricls f Comes Patrick), earl nf March, but more common*. y 
taking his title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noteil part diiriug 
the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Krceldoune 13 
SP.id 10 have delivered to him his fim us proijhecy of king Alex- 
ander's death, the author has chosen to introduce him into the 
following ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's 
publication of the Khymer's predictions printed at Ediubitrgb 
A.D. 1615.] 

When" seven years were come and gane, 
The sun blinkM fair on pool and stream ; 

And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 
Like one awaken'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 

He saw the Hash of armour flee, 
And he beheld a gallant knight, 

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong; 

Of giant make he 'pear'd to be : 
He stirr d his horse, as he were wode, 

Wr gilded spurs, of faushion free. 

Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas ! 

Some uncouth ferlies shew to me," 
Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave I 

Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me ! 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave, 

And I will shew thee curses three. 
Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane. 

And change the green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar, this very hour. 
From Rosse's Hills to Solway sea," 

" Ye lied, ye lied, ve warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea." 

He put his hand on the earlie's head ; 

He shew'd him a rock, beside the sea. 
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,* 

And steel-dight nobles wip'd their e'e, 

* King Alexander ; killed by a fall from liis horse, near 'Klng- 
horn. 



THOMAS THE RHYMER. 509 

*' The neist curse lights on Branxton Hills : 
By Floddeii's high and heathery side, 

Sliall wave a banner, red as blude, 

And chieftains throng wi' mcikle pride, 

" A Scottish king shall come full keen ; 

The ruddy lion beareth he : 
A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween. 

Shall make him wink and warre to see, 

" When he is bloody, and all to bledde, 
Thus to his men he still shall say — 

' For God's sake, turn ye back again. 
And give yon southern folk a fray! 

Why should I lose the right is mine ? 
My doom is not to die this day.'* 

" Yet turn ye to the eastern hand. 

And woe and wonder ye sail see; 
How forty thousand spearmen stand, 

Where yon rank river meets the sea. 

" There shall the lion lose the g}'lte, 
And the libbards bear it clean away ; 

At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much gentil blude that day." 

" Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessing shew thou now to rue. 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Gorspatrick said, 

" Ye shall rue the dav ye e'er saw me 1" 

" The first of blessings I shall thee shew. 
Is by a burn, that's called of bread ;■)♦ 

Where Saxon men shall tine the bow. 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

" Beside that brigg, out-ower that burn. 

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen, 

Shall many a falling courser spurn. 
And knights shall die iu battle keen. 

• The uncertainty which iong prevailed in Scotland concerning 
the fate of James IV., is well kiio\m. 
t One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus: 
" The burn of breid 
Sliall run few reid." 
Baunock-barn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the nam 
, ■< hayvnock, to a thick round cake of unleavened bread. 



600 



iHOMAS THE RHYMER. 



" Beside a headless cross of stone, 

The libbards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon blood sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know, 
So thick the corses there shall be." 

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
"• True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 
Ev'n from the north to the southern sea i 

" A French queen shall bear the son. 
Shall rule all Britain to the sea : 

He of the Bruce's blude shall come. 
As near as in the ninth degree, 

" The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride ower ocean wide. 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree.'" 



PART THIRD, 



When seven years more had come and gone. 
Was war through Scotland spread. 

And Ruberalaw show'd high Dunyon 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow, 
Pitch' d palliouus took their room. 

And crested helms, and spears a rowe, 
Glanc'd gaily through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ;* 
They rous'd the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee. 

The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 
In Learmont's high and ancient hall ; 

* Ensenzie. — "War-cry, or gjatherhig word- 



THOMAS THE RUYMEIU 601 

And there were knights of great renown. 
And ladies, laced in palL 

Nor lack'd they, while they sat at dine, 

The music, nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighs* of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand. 

When as the feast was done ; 
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The eltin harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue. 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords lean'd on their swordB, 

And hearken'd to the tale. 

In numbers high, the witching tale 

The prophet pour'd along ; 
No after bard might e'er avaU 

Those nimibers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
Ae, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears. 

He sung King Arthur's table round : 

The warrior of the lake ; 
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,' 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

Bui chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, 

The notes melodious swell ;+ 
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days. 

The knight of Lionelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A venom'd wound he bore ; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand j 
No med'cine could be found, 

* Quaigh*.— Wooden cups, composed of stavei hooped tagathar 
+ Alluding to Thomas the Khymer's celebrated romanca of 9a 
'J'rUlrem. 

2c 



602 THOMAS THE RHYJIEE. 

Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had prob'd the rankling wound. 

With gentle hand and soothing tongue, 

She bore the leech's part ; 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung. 

He paid her with his heart. 

O fatal was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom'd in evil tide, 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen. 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 

In fairy tissue wove ; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,, 

In gay confusion strove. 

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
In all its wonders spread. 

Brengw^ain was there, and Segramore, 
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye; 

Of that fam'd wizard's mighty lore, 
O who could sing but he ? 

Through many a maze the ■winning song 

In changeful passion led. 
Till bent at length the list'ning throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His ancient wounds their scars expand ; 

With agony his heart is wrung : 
O where is Isolde's lily hand, 

And where her soothing tongue ? 

She comes, she comes ! like flash of flame 

Can lovers'footsteps fly: 
She comes, she comes ! she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die : her latest sigh 
Join'd in a kiss his parting breath: 

The gentlest pair that Britain bare 
United are in death. 



THOMAS THE KHraiEB. 603 

There paus'd the harp ; its ling'ring sound. 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silent guests still bent around. 

For still they seem'd to hear. 

Then woe hroko forth in mnrraijrs weak 

Nor ladies heav'd alone the sigh ; 
But, half asham'd, the rugged cheek 

Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tow'r, 

The mists of evening close; 
In camp, in castle, or in bow'r. 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 

Dream'd o'er the woeful tale ; 
"S\Tien footsteps light, across the bent, 

The warrior's ears assail. 

He starts, he wakes : — " What, Richard, ho 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
What vent'rous wight, at dead of night. 

Dare step where Douglas lies f 

Then forth they rushed : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth* sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by side, 

As white as snow on Faimalie. 

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. 

They stately move and slow : 
Nov scare they at the gath'ring crowd, 

AVho marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tow'r a message sped. 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his clothes did on. 

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 

Never a word he spake but three ; — 
" My saud is run ; my thread is spun; 

This sign regardeth me." 

The Elfin harp his neck around. 
In minstrel guise, he hung ; 

* Selcouth— -Wond^aaa, 



604 



THOMAS THE RHYMEU, 



And on the wind, in doleful aonnd. 
Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went ;. yet tum'd him oft 

To view his ancient hall ; 
On the grey tow'r, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moon-beams fall. 

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen, 

Danc'd shimm'ring in the ray : 
In deep'ning mass, at distance seen, 

Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

" Farewell, my father's ancient tow'r ! 

A long farewell," said he : 
" The scene of pleasure, pomp, or pow'r. 

Thou never more shalt be. 

"To Learmont's name no foot of earth 

Shall here again belong. 
And on thy hospitable hearth 

The hare shall leave her young. 

" Adieu I Adieu !" again he cried, 

All as he tum'd him roun' — 
*' Farewell to Leader's silver tide ! 

Farewell to Ercildoune !" 

The hart and hind approach'd the place. 

As ling'ring yet he stood ; 
And there, before Lord Douglas' face. 

With them he cross'd the Hood. 

Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed, 
And spurr'd him the Leader o'er ; 

But, though he rode with lightning speed. 
He never saw them more. 

Some said to hill, and some to glen. 
Their wondrous course had been ; 

But ne'er in haunts of living men 
Again was Thomas seen. 



1 



XHB FIBJB-KINO. 605 



THE FIRE-KING. 

-' The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon 
him." Eastern Tale. 



[This ballad was written at the request of Mr Lewis, to be in. 
eerted in his '' Tales of Wonder." It is the third in a series of four 
ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, how- 
ever, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, during the strusgles 
of ihe Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a kuis;ht-templar, called Samt- 
Albiin, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in 
aiany combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict 
with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem.] 

. Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, 
Of love, and of "war, and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 

O see you that castle, so strong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land. 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand? — 

" Xow palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me, 
"\\Tiat news bring you home from the Holy Countrie? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the ilow'r of the land .5* 

" O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Raman we have; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have 

won." — 
A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 
O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she 

iiuug: 
" Oh palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee. 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 

" O palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ? 
VNTien the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross 

rush'd on, 
O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon?*'— 



606 THE FIRE-KING. 

" O lady, fair ladj, tlie tree green it grows ; 
O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 
Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high 
But lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is gone ; 
Count Albert is pris'ner on Mount Lebanon." — 
O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land. 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 
Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he ; 
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 

" Oh Christian, brave Christian, my love would'st 

thou be, 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee : 
Our laws and our worship, on thee shalt thou take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore. 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake ; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, last, thou shalt aid us with council and hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's .land ; 
For my lord and my love then Count Albert Til take 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake."- 

He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled sword, 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, 
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, 
He has watch'd until day-break, but sight saw he none, 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amaz'd was the princess, the soldan amaz'd. 

Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gaz'd ; 



THE FIRE-KING. 



GOT 



They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground. 

He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled 

round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, 
The flame burn'd unmoY'd,and nought else did he spy. 

Loud murmur'd the priests, and amaz'd was the king, 
AV'hile many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing ; 
They searched Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast 
"Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 

The priests they erase it with care and with pain, 
And the recreant return'd to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a Avhisper there feU '— 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolv'd to retreat ; 
But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was gone, 
When he thought on the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce trod, 
"When the winds from the four points of heav'n were 

abroad ; 
They made each steel portal to rattle and ring. 
And, home on the blast, came the dread Fire-King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. 
The fire on the altar blaz'd bick'ring and high ; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the jNIonarch of Flame. 

Unmeasur'd in height, undistinguish'd in form, 
His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame. 
When he saw in his teiTors the Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer'd through 

smoke. 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he 

spoke : — 
" With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and 

no more. 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." 



60S niL Fiuii-KiNo. 

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the "weapon; and, see 
The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee : 
The thunders growl distant, and taint gleam the fires, 
As, borne on his whirlwind, the Phantom retires. 

Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was 

strong ; 
And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent 

came on. 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave ; 

Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint 

John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. 

The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, 
The lances were-couch'd, and they clos'd on each 

side ; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert overthrew, 
Till he pierc'd the thick tumult King Baldwin unto. 

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did 

wield 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross 

shield ; 
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before, 
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low 
Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddle-bow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,— 
" Bonne grace, notre Dame" he unwittingly said. 

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er, 
It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. 

fie clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand ; 
He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the strand ; 
As back from the stripling the broken casque roll'd, 
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. 



n 



FREDERICK AND ALICE, 609 

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 

On those death-swimming eye-halls, and blood-clotted 

hair ; 
For doAvn came the Templars, like Cedron in Hood, 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and cros.-^letted shield; 
And the eagles were gorg'd wnth the infidel dead, 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphf all's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — 
Oh, who is yon Paynini lies stretch'd 'mid the slain? 
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee? — 
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 

The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound. 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound : 
Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, 
How the Red Cross it conquer' d, the Cre.-^cent it fell; 
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'raid their glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 

[This tale is imit,\ted, rather than translated, from a fra^^ment 
Introduced in Goethe's ''Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is sung 
by a member of a gang of banditti, to enga;<e the attention Of tho 
family, wliile his companions break into the castle.J 

Fred'rick leaves the land of France, 
Homewards hastes his steps to measure ; 

Careless casts the parting glance, 
On the scene of former pleasure ; 

Joying in his prancing steed, 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 
Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 

Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, 
Lovely Alice wept alone; 
2c2 



610 FKKUi^iUv^K AM) ALICE. 

Moum'd o'er love's fond contract tonij 
Hope, and peace, and honoiir floAvn. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs 1 
See, the tear of anguish flows I — 

Mingling soon with bursting sobs, 
Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she curs'd, and wild she pray'd ; 

Sev'n long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid. 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faithless Fred'rick onward rides ; 

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound, 
As the tongue of yonder tow'r 

Slowly, to the hills around, 

Told the fourth, the fated hour.? 

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air. 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair, 

Struck with strange mysterious fears, 

Desp'rate, as his terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Sev'n long days, and sev'n long nights, 
Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright. 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the sev'nth sad night descends ; 

Ri'-'ers swell, and rain-streams pour ; 
"\^^lile the deaf ning thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 

Where his head shall Fred'iick hide? 

Where, but in yon ruined aisle, 
By the lightning's fliish descried. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 

To the portal, dank and low, 

Fast his steed the wand'rer bound ; 

Down a ruin'd staircase slow, 
Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ; 

Glimm'ring lights are seen to glide ! — 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide !" — 

Often lost their quiv'ring beam. 
Still the lights move slow before, 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 

Thundering voices from within, 

MLx'd with peals of laughter, rose; 

As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous close ! 

'Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death remov'd; — 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that Alice lov'd. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke; 

Four times, at its deaden'd swell. 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthen'd clangours die, 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

All with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since number'd with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ;■ 

All arose, with thund'ring sound ; 
All th' expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave, 
\Vild their notes of welcome swell; — 



6Jl 



612 THK WILD HUNTSMEN. 

" Welcome, traitor, to the grave I 
Perjur'd, bid the light farewell ?" 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 

[This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the Wilds Jager 
of the German poet Burger. The tradition upon which it is found- 
pd bears, that formerly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, 
nami.d Falkenburgh, was so much addicted to the pleasures of the 
chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he 
not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, 
and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied 
it wKih the most unheard-of oppression upon the poor peasants, 
who were under his vassalage. When this second Niinrod died, 
the people idopted a superstitiou, founded probably on the many 
various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, 
during the silence of the night. They comeived they still heard 
the cry of the Wild^rave's bounds; and tlie well-known cheer of 
the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' feet, and the rust- 
ling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen-, 
are also distinctly discriminated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if 
ever, visible.] 

The Wildgrave -winds his bugle horn. 

To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! 
His fiery courser snuffs the morn. 

And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

The eager pack, from couples freed. 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake , 

While answering hound, and horn, and steed, 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallow'd day 
Had painted yonder spire with gold, 

And, calling sinful man to }ii'ay, 

Loud, long, and deep, the bell had toli*d . 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! 
When, spurring from opposing sides, 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 

Who was each Stranger, left and right, 
Well may I guess, but dare not teU ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white^ 
The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 



THE WILD nUNTSllEN. 

The right-liand horseman, young and fair. 
His smile was like the morn of May ; 

The left, from eye of tawny glare. 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He wavM his huntsman's cap on high, 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord! 

What sport on earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely chase, afford ?" 

"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," 
Cried the fair youth, with ^-ilver voice; 

"And for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. 

" To-dav, th' ill-omen'd chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; 

To-day the V'.'arning Spirit hear, 

To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain." 

"Away, ar.d sweep the glades along 1" 
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; 

*"■ To mutt' ring monks leave matin-song. 
And bells, and books, and mysteries." 

The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, 
And, launching forward with a bound, 

•' Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound.^* 

" Hence, if our manly spoii oliend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend : 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away !" 

The Wildgiave spurr'd his courser light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill ; 

And on the left, and on the right. 

Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still. 

Up springs, from yonder tangl'd thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain snow; 

And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
" Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho !" 

A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 
He gasps, the tliund'ring hoofs below ; — 



613 



614 



THE WILD UUNTSMEX. 



But, Ih'e who can, or die -who may. 
Still, " Forward, forward T' on they go. 

See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with autumn's blessings crown'd* 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman, with toil embrown'd : 

" O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
" Earu'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd. 

In scorching hour of fierce July." — 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

Th' impetuous Earl no warning heeds 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound ! so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow !'* — 

Then loudly rung his bugle horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" 

So said, so done : — A single bound 

Clears the poor labourer's humble pale ; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man, and horse, and hound, and horn. 
Destructive sweep the field along ; 

While, joying o'er the wasted corn, 

Fell Famine marks the madd'ning throng. 

Again up-rous'd, the tim'rous prey 

Scours moss, and moor, and holt, and hill 

Hard run, he feels his strength decay. 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appear'd ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd, 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss, and moor, and holt, and hill. 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace : 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 

Pall lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
" O spare, thou noble Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all ; 
These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care." 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The Earl nor pray'r nor pity heeds, 
But furious keeps the onward way. 

— " Uninanner'd dog ! To stop my spoit 
Vain were thy cant and beggar wnine. 

Though human spirits, of thy sort. 

Were tenants of these carrion kine !** — 

Again he winds his bugle horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho f 

And through the herd, in ruthless scorn 
He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled v-ictiras fall ; 

Do%\Ti sinks their mangl'd herdsman near; 
The murd'rous cries the stag appal, — 

Again he starts, new-nerv'd by fear. 

With blood besmear'd, and white with foam. 
While big the tears of anguish pour, 

He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, 
The humble hermit's hallow'd bow'r. 

But man, and horse, and horn, and hound, 

Fast rattling on his traces go ; 
The sacred chapel rung around 

With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho T* 

All mild, amid the route profane. 
The holy hermit pour'd his pray'r ; — 

" Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 
Revere his altar, and forbear ! 

" The meanest brute has rights to plead. 
Which, -wTong'd by cruelty, or pride, 

Draw vengeance on the ruthless head :— 
Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." 

Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 
The Black, wUd whooping, points the prey . 



615 



.♦ 



616 THE WILD nUNTSMEN. 

Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds. 
But frantic keeps the forward way. 

" Holy or not, or right or wrong, 
Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; 

Not sainted martyrs' sacred song. 

Not God himself, shall make me tumP 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
" Hark forw^ard, forward, holla, ho !" — 

But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, 
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 

And horse, and man, and horn, and hound. 
And clamour of the chase, was gone ; 

For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound, 
A deadly silence reign'd alone. 

"Wild gaz'd the affrighted Earl around; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn; 
In vain to call ; for not a sound 

Could from his anxious lips be borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds ; 

No distant baying reach'd his ears : 
His courser, rooted to the ground, 

The quick'ning spur unmindful bears. 

Still dark and darker frown the shades. 
Dark, as the darkness of the grave ; 

And not a sound the still invades, 
Save what a distant torrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humbl'd head 
At length the solemn silence broke ; 

And, from a cloud of swarthy red. 
The awful voice of thunder spoke. 

" Oppressor of creation fair ! 

Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool i 
Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor ! 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

" Be chas'd for ever through the wood; 

For ever roam the affrighted wild; 
And let thy fate instruct the proud, 

God's meanest creature is his child," — • 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. C 1 7 

'Twas hash'd : One flash, of scnibie glare, 
With yellow tiug'd the forests brown; 

Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, 
And horror chill'd each nerve and bone. 

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill ; 

A rising wind began to sing ; 
And louder, louder, louder still. 

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 

Earth heard the call ;— Her entrails rend : 
From yawning rifts, with many a yeU. 

Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 
The misbegotten dogs of hell. 

What ghastly Huntsman next arose. 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

His eye like midnight lightning glows, 
His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 

The AVildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn. 
With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 

Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, 
And, " Hark away, and holla, ho !" 

With wild despair's reverted eye. 

Close, close behind, he marks the throng. 

With bloody fangs, and eager cry ; 
In frantic fear he scours along. — 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, 

Till time itself shall have an end : 
By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space, 

At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 
This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 

That oft the lated peasant hears ; 
Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross, 

when the ^nld din invades his ears. 
The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 

For human pride, for human woe. 
When, at his midnight mass, he hears 

The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho !" 



618 



WAR SONG 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS, 

WRITTEN DURING THE APPREHENSION OF AN INVASION, 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard llies, 

The bugles sound the call; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
The voice of Battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's tow'rs Ave come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.* 
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown, 

Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn, 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 

O ! had they mark'd th' avenging call 

Their brethren's murder gave. 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valour, desp'rate grown, 

Sought freedom in the grave ! 
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born. 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile. 
To hail a master in our isle. 

Or brook a victor's scorn? 

No ! though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a Hood, 
The sun, that sees our falling day, 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway. 

And set that night in blood. 

* The Royal Colours. 



TilE NOllMAN HORSE-SHOK 619 

For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain; 
Unbrib'd, unbought, our swords we draw. 
To guard our King, to fence our Law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan the tri-color, 
Or footstep of invader nide, 
With rapine foul, and red with hlood. 

Pollute our hapjjy shore, — 

Then farewell home ! and farewell friends ! 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolv'd, we mingle in the tide, 
Where charging squadrons furious ride. 

To conc[uer, or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle call ; 
CombinM by honour's sacred lie. 
Our word is, Laws and Liberty! 

March forward, one and all ! 



THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. 



[The ■\Velrh, inhabitinir a mountainous country, and possessing 
only an inferior breed ot horses, were usually unable toencouiitei' 
the'shock of the An^Io-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, 
they were successful in repi-Uing the invaders; and the following 
verses are supposed to celebratt- a defeat of Ci.akr, Et!. of Stii- 
giiil and PembroVci'. and of Nkvim.f. Biron of Chep<tow, I.ords- 
Marchcrs of Momnouthshire Ryinny is a stream which divij. 3 
the counties of Monmouth and Glaniortran: Caerphili, the scene < f 
the supposed battle, is a viile upou ila bauks, dignined by the ruins 
ot a very ancient castle. 



Air TJie War-song of the Men of Glamorgan 

I. 

Red gloAvs the forge in Striguil's bounds. 
And hammers din, and anvil sounds, 
And armourers, Avith iron toil, 
Barb manv a steed for battle's broil. 



620 THE iNOKJlAN HORSE-SHOE. 

Foul fall the hand -which bends the steel 
Around the courser's thund'ring heeL 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 

IL 

From Chepstow's tow'rs, ere dawn of mom. 
Was heard afar the bugle horn ; 
And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 
They swore, their banners broad should gleam, 
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream; 
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel 
The Norman charger's spurning heel. 

III. 

And sooth they swore — the sun arose, 
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows; 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
And sooth they vow'd — the trampled green 
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been : 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A Noraian horseman's curdling blood ! 

IV, 

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; 
Their orphans long the art may rue, 
For Neville's war-horse forg'd the shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead? 
Nor trace be there, in early spring, 
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 



THE DYING BARD. 



621 



THE DYING BARD. 

[The 'Welch tradition bears, tliat a Bard, nn his death-bed, do 
manrfsd his harp, and playeil the air to wliich these vi-rses are 
adapted; xequesiiug, that it might be performed at his funeral] 



Air Dafiydz Gangwen. 

I. 

DiNAS Emlinn, lamsnt ; for the moment is nigh. 
When mute in the woodlands thine eclioes shall die: 
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwailon shall rave, 
Ajid mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. 

ix. 

in spring and in autumn thy glories of shade, 
Unhonour d shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, 
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung. 

HI. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
h.vd chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
3ut where is the harp shall give life to their name? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? 

IV. 

And Oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, 
^^Tio heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair ; 
"What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye. 
When half of their charms with Cadwailon shall die? 

V. 
Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy lov'd scene. 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ; 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, 
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids ! 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell. 
Farewell, my lov'd Harp ! my last treasure, farewell I 



THE MAID OF TOEO. 



THE MAID OP TORO. 



O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 

And weak were the whispers that wav'd the daik 
wood. 
All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, 

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. 
"O, saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; 

Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry; 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 

My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die 1" 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle. 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they 
fail. 
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread 
rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the 
gale. 
Breathless she gaz'd on the woodlands so dreary; 

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 

" O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ! 

O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying; 

And fast through the woodland approaches the 
foe." — 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, 

And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with 
despair : 
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, 

For ever he set to the Bi-ave, and the Fair. 



HELLVELLYN. 



623 



H LLVELLYN. 

[In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a 
most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mouii 
tainHellvellyn. His remains were not discnvered till three uioiitli ; 
afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier- 
bitch, his constant atteudant daring frequent solitary rambles 
through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.]] 

I CLIMB'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, 
Lakes and mountaius beneath me gleam'd misty 
and wide ; 
All -was still, save, by fits when the eagle was yell- 
ing, ' tr 
And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was 

bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wand'rer 
had died. 

Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain- 
heather, 

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay. 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather. 

Till the mountain- winds wasted tlie tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute fav'rite attended, 
The much-lov'd remains of her master defended. 

And chas'd the hill-iox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slum- 
ber; 
When the wind wav'd his garment, how oft didst 
thou start ; 
How many long days and long weeks didst thou 
number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? 
And, Oh I was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er 

him, 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him, — 
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart .P 



<.., 



G24 



HELLVELLYN. 



"WTien a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 
The tap'stry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; 

With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
And pages stand mute hy the canopied pall : 

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are 
gleaming j 

In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beaming ; 

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb ; 
When, wilder' d, he drops from some cliff huge in 
stature. 
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desart lake lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 
In the anns of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



J-" -''Tf 



ma 



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